The Stolen King
by silverwrym
Summary: Sequel to The Whipping Boy. The Kingdom of Quantico is at war with its neighboring country when Spencer is captured by King Charles and taken away. It's up to Derek and his most trusted friends to come up with a plan to rescue his husband. Meanwhile, Spencer must figure out how to survive in the harsh world that is known as Georgia. AU - Morgan/Reid Slash.
1. Premonition

**Hi Friends.**

**Welcome back to the Kingdom of Quantico. If you couldn't tell from the summary my favorite character, Reid, is getting into some trouble again. Oh how I do love "damsel in distress" Reid...with few kickass/BAMF moments sprinkled on top. For those of you who wondered where Tobias, Charles, and Raphael were in the first story...well...this was my plan all along. I felt I would need a whole new storyline to tackle that can of worms...and here we are :) **

**For those of you just joining me, I would advise you to read "The Whipping Boy" first so that you understand the background/groundwork that was laid before this story.**

**Reminders:**

**1\. This is slash! I love me some Morgan and Reid!**

**2\. While I will try to keep the character's personalities as accurate as possible there will be times that people may act OOC.**

**3\. I am not going to follow the whole "Revelations" storyline from the show. I am using the characters from that episode in my own way and I may draw inspiration from scenes but this will not be a medieval retelling of that episode.**

**4\. I make up the rankings, addresses, titles, etc... of all the characters. I draw my inspiration from years of reading countless stories about Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII. I will not promise or hold myself to historical accuracy since I have made up a land of my own...hence AU.**

**5\. A big thank you to Gothina234 suggesting the title to this story!**

**Alrighty, here we go!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_The crisp cool air incited an outbreak of goose bumps all over the boy's exposed forearms as he stepped out onto the ornate balcony. There wasn't a cloud in the sky to block out the shimmering of thousands of stars high above his head. Off in the distance a full moon shined its pale light down on the kingdom that lay sprawled at the foot of the castle. The soft glow played over hundreds of buildings, creating a contrasting patchwork of shadows and light over the city._

_He approached the metal railing and laid his hands against the cold surface. A chill ran through his body as the temperature of the object transferred up his spine. He quickly brought his hands up to wrap them about his body but found them stopped short of their destination. He curiously inspected each of his wrists and found golden manacles attached by a matching chain encasing each one. The distance between the metal links was roughly a foot in length, which sufficiently prevented him from hugging his own body._

_He tried to pull at the chain with all his strength but the metal links held steady. He stopped trying to free himself and with hollow eyes he turned his gaze out to the landscape that was stretched out before him. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, silently longing for whatever was hidden over the horizon._

_It was the pitter-patter of water pellets that roused him out of the aching yearning he had for the unknown. He looked down and saw that there were tear sized droplets moistening his hands and the rail. Mystified as to the source of the rain, he lifted his hand up and rubbed it across his face. When he brought it back into view he was surprised to find that his own eyes were the originators of the liquid._

_A small sob escaped his lips as he felt the overwhelming anguish that had been buried just beneath the surface of his mind burst forth. He dropped to his knees and brought his hands up to his face in an effort to muffle his keening. He wailed his displeasure till his chest ached from the taxing exertion. When he could produce no more tears he tilted his head up and allowed the moon's pale radiance to light the shadows on his face. In a cracked voice that was barely above a whisper he murmured, "Derek, where are you?"_

_Suddenly a sharp tug on his neck pulled him backwards from the edge and down onto the ground. His hand flew to his collar and he felt a leash locked to the ring in the back. Against his will a force started to drag him toward the room behind him. He jerked his body around in desperation and started thrashing back and forth trying to thwart the powerful force at the other end on the chain. His struggles were in vain as inch by inch he was pulled forth into a formidable man's grasp._

"_Let me go," he gritted through clenched teeth as he looked up at the towering figure above him._

_The man let out a loud sardonic laugh at his demand._

_Undeterred by the man's mocking chortle he gathered up all the saliva he could and spat it out right into the other's smug face._

_An enraged snarl tore from the monsterous man's mouth as he wrapped his meaty hands around the boy's neck. "You will never be free," he roared as he squeezed the tender flesh exposed below the metallic collar._

_He started gasping for air as he felt his precious airway become constricted. He clawed and scratched at the man's grizzled flesh in desperation. As the worlds started to darken he pulled the last bit of air into his lungs and let out a tormented howl._

* * *

"Spencer!"

"Spencer, wake up!" Derek's voice cried, piercing the fog that dominated the boy's brain.

His big brown eyes flew open as he gulped in a large amount of air. It took him a moment to realize that the shadow on his face was caused by his husband. "Derek?"

"Yeah, it's me. Are you alright? You were scaring me."

Spencer inhaled a few more deep breaths in an effort to calm his rapidly beating heart, "It was…I was…I guess I was just having a bad dream."

"More like a nightmare," the king said wryly.

The waifish boy winced as he reached for his throat, and nodded slowly, "Yeah…I guess."

"What was it about?" Derek asked softly, seeing how his love was still being effected by the dream.

"I-I was all alone out on a balcony. It was cold and dark. I-I had chains on my wrists…and…I was really upset about something. I remember calling your name out, asking where you were. Then I was pulled backwards by my neck, someone had put another leash on me," Spencer halted his retelling there for a moment, flushing at the memory.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me anymore," his husband said compassionately as he gently caressed his thumb across the boy's reddening cheek.

"No-no…it's alright. I'm alright," he insisted. "I fought against whomever it was that was pulling me back inside. I wasn't strong enough though and before I knew it this large man was standing above me laughing. I told him to let me go but he still laughed. So, I spat in his face."

"That's my boy." Derek praised.

Spencer gave him a weak smile, "It wasn't over though. The guy got angry and told me I would never be free…and then…then he started choking me with his bare hands." The co-king shuddered at the memory, "And then, thankfully, you woke me up…"

The enamored monarch wrapped his love into his welcoming arms and said, "Sounds awful sweetie. But it was just a dream, and you're safe now."

Spencer squeezed his lover back and planted a passionate kiss on his husband's plump lips, "Thanks to you waking me up."

"Well, if that's the thanks I'll get for waking you up I'll be sure to do it more often," Derek said with a flirtatious smile.

"Don't you dare! You know how much I enjoy sleeping in!" the boy said playfully, giving Derek a spirited smack on the cheek.

The king laughed and grabbed his lover's bony wrist before forcing it down onto the bed, "So that's how you want to play this?"

Spencer squirmed a little in his grasp and wriggled his hips in a silent response.

The next thing the couple knew they were laying on the soft silk sheets sweaty and spent after a half hour of erotic exertions.

The king was first to stir from his post-coital daze. He gently fingered the key that was hanging from the chain around his lover's neck before he got up and pushed himself over to the side of the bed. His retreat was met with a small whine from the prone body still sprawled out on the comfortable covers.

Spencer, missing the warmth of Derek's embrace, lifted his head and peered through his beautiful brown curls. "What's the rush? The sun has barely risen."

Derek heaved a heavy sigh and broke his lover's gaze. "You know why…," Derek said reluctantly as he reached down and started pulling on his previously discarded clothes.

Spencer saw his husband pulling on a white jerkin and leather breeches before he stood up to retrieve a set of chainmail that had been laid out the night before. Guilt surged through the boy at the realization that his nightmare had caused him to forget that Derek was leaving today.

For over the past four years the realm to the south, the Kingdom of Georgia, had been expanding its boarders and going to war with its neighboring countries. The king of the realm, Charles, was a deeply fanatical man believing himself to have been ordained by God and meant to rule the world as a whole. He sent out his proclamation to all of the lands that bordered his and declared that he would overtake them in God's name.

Slowly over the years Charles started making good on his promises. He captured and absorbed all the lands to the west of his kingdom and now he was focusing his forces on the north, namely Quantico. After months consulting with the countries smartest advisors Derek and Spencer decided that their only option was to gather their army and defend their kingdom. Derek was to lead the forces while Spencer would run the kingdom in his absence.

"You have to go already?"

The muscular man dropped his chin and pulled the heavy mail over his head, "Already? I should have been gone by now. I was supposed to be out in the courtyard at the crack of dawn. Someone distracted me…"

The lithe young man started to get up in order to get dressed when he was pushed back down onto the bed.

"No, don't get up. Stay in bed and enjoy your last morning sleeping in for a long while," Derek encouraged before he continued getting ready.

"You're crazy. I'm not staying here. I'm going to see you off," Spencer said shrilly.

"No, you're not."

A hurt look crossed Spencer's face, "You don't want me there to say goodbye?"

"No."

"Oh," he said in a quiet voice.

The king, fully dressed and ready to go, made his way over to the bed and sat down next to his best friend. "Look, I could be gone for six months to a year if this doesn't go our way. It kills me that I have to leave you here to watch over the castle and run the country while I'm away. So I don't want the last image I have of you to be one where you're standing in the courtyard a sad look on your face as I lead the army away. I want to remember you like you are now, strong, beautiful, happy, and hopelessly in love with me; not worried, scared, longing for me to turn around and come home."

An understanding smile broke out on Spencer's pink rosebud lips. He reached his arms up and wrapped them around Derek's neck, fingering his lover's collar. "Do you want me to unlock this so it doesn't hamper you in battle?"

Derek pulled back with a jerk, "Of course not! It's going to remind me every day of what I'm fighting for and what I could lose if I do not succeed."

Spencer blushed and grabbed the key hanging from the platinum chain.

Derek grinned at the boy's reaction and used his finger to lift the genius's angular face. As Spencer's wispy eyelashes swooped up to meet the king's brown orbs, Derek rushed down and locked their lips in a fiery kiss.

A minute later the king pulled back and got up from the bed. "I have to go."

He grabbed his sword from where it was hanging on the wall and sheathed it in its scabbard. "Just remember that I love you and that I will come back to you. I promise."

Spencer put on a brave face as he watched his lover walk out of their chambers. When the giant doors began to close he called out, "I love you too."

As the oaken barrier swooshed close he heard a deep chuckle followed by, "I love you three."

* * *

**So, are you with me?**


	2. Sunday Bloody Sunday

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for all the support for the first chapter of the story. It seems like you guys are ready for this ride...and boy am I taking you on one in this chapter.**

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and adds! Please feel free to leave a note! I love hearing your thoughts!**

**Please forgive my mistakes. I do try to edit but things do slip by.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Spencer softly slid his hand over the lush green grass that was framing his body as he lay on his back by the shore of a small unnamed creek. He relished in the trickling sound that the water made as it stumbled over the rocks on its journey to the mighty Potomac River. Above him the sky was a beautiful cerulean blue and spotted with puffy white clouds that seemed to form objects when he put his imagination to use. His body was swathed in thin white cotton shirt that was quickly accumulating stains due to the grass beneath him. On his bottom half he wore a simple pair of breeches that were supple and flexible when compared to his usual kingly attire. Overall it was most unusual outfit for him to be wearing but he was too comfortable to care.

The sun was three-quarters of its way through its daily journey, signaling the coming end to Spencer's favorite day, Sunday. He enjoyed the seventh day of the week so much due to the fact that he had no courtly obligations to fulfill. It was the one day he could just relax and enjoy himself, especially since Derek had gone away.

Derek.

Spencer sighed heavily at the thought of his absent lover.

It had been over four months since the morning Derek had galloped off into the sunrise alongside Sir Hotchner and the majority of Quantico's army right on his heels. Since then Spencer had been running the everyday dealings of the kingdom with the help of his mother and Lord Rossi.

He wished he could say that his days had been so frantic that he hadn't had a chance to miss Derek, but that was not the case. While his mornings and afternoons were taken up with checking the castle fortifications, holding court, and organizing caravans to take supplies to the troops, his nights were long and lonely. The young man's lonesomeness had gotten so bad that he found himself wishing that the sun would not set and that the day would just last forever. That way he would never have to spend the overnight hours all alone in the gigantic bed that the two of them had christened four years ago.

The former slave gave an annoyed groan as he propped himself up on his elbows and watched the clear water meander past his position. His eyes may have been focused on the course of the stream but his mind was contemplating how much longer he would have to rule on his own.

According to the letters that he sporadically received from his husband it could be another year before the two were reunited again. From what details Derek was able to write, Spencer had gleaned that King Charles had split his army into three divisions and sent them off to attack a different parts of Quantico. Luckily, Derek and Sir Hotchner had sat down before they left and mapped out potential regions that would be vulnerable to attack. Once they identified the cities that were the most susceptible they divided their own army into three units and sent them out to fortify and prepare the citizens for a possible attack.

The issue that Derek was now facing was trying to take down King Charles main force, rumored to be led by the king himself, with an army that was spread thin. He couldn't call the troops in from their positions throughout the country and he was reluctant to force the civilians into serving. So for now Derek and Sir Hotchner were doing their best to strategize and hold off the opposing forces with the manpower they had. And whatever they ended up planning Spencer desperately hoped that it would cut down on the amount of time Derek would have to spend in the field.

Spencer's musings were suddenly cut short by the sound of galloping hooves coming over the hill behind him. He stood up quickly; his hand immediately reached toward his waistband where he usually kept his sword but found it barren. He cursed out loud at his own stupidity for not bringing a weapon with him during wartime. Deciding that being up on his horse would at least allow him to run if needed, he mounted he steed, Abacus, and turned her to face his unwanted visitor.

The tension in the monarch's shoulders relaxed slightly when he saw the bright colors of Lady Penelope Garcia bouncing up and down as the horse raced closer and closer to his location.

Spencer immediately registered her panicked look on her face when she reared her horse to stop before him.

"Your Highness," she addressed him breathlessly. "You must come quickly."

"What is it? What's wrong?" he instantly inquired.

"It's the Georgians. The guards on the watchtower spotted a large contingent of them headed for the castle…too many to defend against. Everyone is running around in a panic and the dowager queen refuses to go into hiding," she spilled out in a rush.

Panic sizzled through his veins when he realized how poorly prepared the castle was for an attack. They had gambled on Charles being preoccupied with the troops out in the field that they only left a skeleton crew behind to man the palace.

Spencer swore a vicious curse as he gripped the reigns of his horse tighter in his hands. "Come on! We have no time to waste," he shouted before digging his heels into Abacus's sides and galloping off toward his home.

* * *

Derek was sitting atop his brilliant black stallion, Thunderhead, examining a map along with Sir Hotchner. Off in the distance they could see the billowing of dust being thrown up from the invading army that was soon to come over the rise. A major battle was about to start and the two were trying their best to devise a plan of attack that would give them a decent advantage over their enemy.

"So, Sir Kassmeyer and his troops have already left?" Derek asked Aaron.

"Yes sire. I dispatched them an hour ago. They should be down in the valley right now."

Derek gave a small nod of approval, "Good. If all goes as planned then they should be in the perfect position to pop up behind Charles's soldiers by the time the battle starts."

"They'll never see them coming," Hotchner said, pleased with the plan.

"Do we know who's leading the army yet?"

"No. I sent out scouts a few days ago but I haven't received any word back yet," the knight replied.

The king let out a grunt of frustration, "I hope Charles is leading his own army. I want to get a chance to meet this foul man before I run him and his forces out of my country."

Amazingly, Derek had never met Charles or any of his family. The neighboring monarch hadn't been to Quantico since before the young king had been born and since then he had only sent representatives to talk in his stead. According to his mother the last time Charles had stepped foot in town was to celebrate her marriage to William. She had described him as a particularly vile and conceited man who wouldn't deign to talk to anyone with of a rank of duke or lower.

Sir Hotchner went to respond but was interrupted by the shouts of young man coming through the throng of knights surrounding the two. "Make way! Make way! I have news for the king!"

The young monarch turned in his saddle toward the frantically approaching knight. The man came to a halt in front of his superiors and gave a slight bow from his perch on his horse. "Your Highness. Sir Hotcher," he said respectfully from behind his shiny metal helm.

"Sir Anderson, is that you?"

The young man pulled his headdress off and said, "Yes, Sire."

"What are you doing here? I left you at the outpost a few miles from the castle."

"I'm sorry Sire, but I had to come. T-there's trouble back at the castle –"

"What do you mean by trouble?" the king asked, he voice deep with concern.

"A huge faction of troops led by King Charles was fast approaching the castle. Even with all the men from the outpost the soldiers defending the gate are going to be outnumbered by at least two to one. The commander sent me here to get you and tell you to send help immediately," Anderson explained.

Derek's eyes immediately went to horizon where he could start to see the opposing army materialize. "This was a decoy. Charles set us up!"

"What do you want to do, Your Highness?" Hotchner asked in a calm and cool voice.

The king couldn't keep his alarm from creeping into his words, "We've got to get back to the castle…but we can't just retreat."

"No…we can't, Your Highness. We must tackle this foe first before we can go help the others," Hotchner agreed.

"How long have you been on the road, Anderson?"

"I've ridden nonstop for two days, Your Majesty."

"Two days…two days," Derek muttered, shutting his eyes with a grimace. "They could all very well be dead by now…"

"You mustn't think like that, Your Highness," Hotchner chided the younger man. "Charles's goal is to take over the kingdom. He wouldn't want to kill off all of his potential subjects. His wants to weaken you by hitting you where it hurts. My guess is that he is going to take the royal family as prisoners and use them as bargaining tools to get what he wants."

Derek's dark pools searched the other man's face and took comfort in the strength he found there. "You're right. He would be a fool to kill…to kill everyone. It would only make me…make us fight against him even harder." The king turned and faced the oncoming army, "We must take down this sect and reduce his force first. What's done at the castle…is done…we'll head there after this fight is over."

As much as those words hurt Derek to say, he knew it was their only choice at the moment. There was no way that he could turn his whole unit around and run back to defend the castle; a castle that could very well have already fallen to the enemy.

No. He had to stay strong for his men and show his opponents that he and his army was a force to be reckoned with. For now, he would just have to hope Spencer and the rest of his family were safe and that the defenders he had left behind were strong enough to hold the gates.

Saying a silent prayer, one that was beseeching the powers above to protect the love of his life, Derek drew his sword and prepared to lead his army into battle.

* * *

Spencer and Penelope made record time back to the castle. As they approached the stone fortress they noticed that the back gate was minimally manned. They quickly went up to the entrance and the guards let them in, explaining that most of the soldiers were at the front gate preparing for battle. Spencer could only nod his approval and told them to keep their wits about them in case the back was attacked too.

As they emerged into the courtyard the two companions were greeted with complete and utter chaos. There were soldiers rushing around doing their best to herd the citizens into secure locations, others were running to man the front gates, and some were still donning their gear and getting ready for battle.

The courtyard was in such a state of pandemonium that no one even noticed that the king was in their midst; not that Spencer could have been bothered with formalities at the moment anyways. He trotted his horse right up to the front steps and dismounted her there. Unfortunately, he was in such a harried state that his descent off of Abacus was anything but graceful. His foot left foot ended up getting caught in the stirrup causing him to end up strewn on the ground in the mud and dust.

"Your Highness," Penelope squeaked as she jumped down from her mount. "Are you alright?"

Spencer didn't have any time to be embarrassed and stood up immediately, ignoring his now torn and soiled clothing. "I'm fine."

"But your bleeding," she protested.

"Never mind that now. You must go and find everyone. Get them to one of the hidden shelters and don't come out," he ordered.

"What are you going to do?"

"I've got to go get the queen mother and convince her to go into hiding. Once I do, we will meet you all in the hideaway," he explained. "Now get going! We don't have much time."

She nodded her head and picked up her skirts in preparation to run. "Be careful Spencer," Penelope bade him before she took off to find their friends, not realizing that she was so distress that she allowed his given name to skate pass her lips.

He smiled at her slip of the tongue and called to her retreating form, "You too!"

The former slave turned and ran up the steps and through the large oak doors. He sprinted off down the corridors on a path that led straight to the throne room. Along the way he ignored anyone stupid enough to stop and pay respect to him and just shouted at them to find shelter.

Soon he found himself skidding around a corner and straight into the throne room. Unsurprisingly, at the front of the room sat his mother in her chair of honor looking calm and regal as if this was a perfectly normal day. Standing by her side was her newly betrothed husband, Lord Rossi. His hand was placed on her shoulder and he was bent over whispering in her ear.

There was no one else in the room, so Spencer didn't hesitate to shout out, "Mother! You must come with me immediately. We've got to get you to one of the shelters." He ran further into the room and stopped at the bottom of the staircase leading to the top of the dais.

Diana just smiled at her son and beckoned him to come closer. "Nonsense my son. I will not run and hide from an enemy like a small child. I will meet them here in a dignified manner and represent our kingdom for you."

When Spencer reached the top of the stairs he knelt down in front of the queen mother and grabbed her fair hands in his. "Please mama," he beseeched with worry shining through his honey-brown windows, "It's for your own safety. We have no idea who is out there and what their orders might be. I can't let you stay in here and be a sitting duck."

She curled her fingers around his and squeezed his hands, "Oh my dear boy…whomever is out there isn't after me…it's you they want. You need to be more concerned about your own welfare right now. This country cannot afford to lose one of their kings. I will stay here in your stead; it is you that must leave now and go into hiding."

"But ma – "

"No buts, Spencer. Listen to reason. We cannot have you falling into their hands. If they don't kill you than they will use you to force Derek into negotiations. That or you will be bait in a trap for Derek and when they seize him you will both end up dead and Quantico will become theirs anyways. Now I order you to get out of here!" Diana said with all the conviction in the world.

"Listen to her, Your Highness. I will stay here and protect her. You have nothing to worry about," Lord Rossi said, supporting his betrothed.

Spencer, still clutching his mother's hands, realized that she was right. "Promise me that you will take care –"

"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise!" cut a venomous voice through the hall.

Diana's head snapped up from her son's gaze and a bitter smile played on her lips at the sight before her, "My dear King Charles, it has been ages but the years have been kind to you. So, to what do I owe this great pleasure of your presence?"

Spencer went to turn in order to confront his foe when he felt his mother tighten her grip on his hands. He looked up at her and caught Diana almost imperceptibly shake her head.

"Ah…the lovely Diana…thank you my dear. I wish I could return the compliment but it looks like you've had a rough go of it since last I've seen you," Charles quipped insolently.

Behind the dowager queen Lord Rossi let out a vicious growl, "You will be respectful to the queen mother, sir."

"Oh…if it isn't doddering fool Lord Rossi. Tell me, have you always been old? I seem to remember you looking exactly the same twenty-five years ago," Charles replied.

Rossi, unable to maintain his usual calm demeanor, took a step forth with his hand on his sword's hilt. However, he was stopped by Diana's quick fingers clutching his sword arm.

"Come now Charles, you didn't come here after all these years to entertain me with your barbarous wit. Why don't you have a seat and we'll get down to business, shall we?" she asked, taking control of the precarious situation.

Charles flashed her a sinister smile, "Funny you should say that Diana…for I am here on business, just not with you."

"Oh? Whoever else might you want to talk to?" Diana asked, feigning surprise.

Anger flash in Charles's eyes, "Don't play dumb with me, woman. Where is the king?"

Though Diana did not show it, Spencer could feel the one hand he still had in his grasp go taut at the man's question. He was dying to turn around and announce his presence to the pompous man but he decided to let his mother continue to lead the delicate situation.

"My son? He is out on the battlefield right now. Where a proper king should be…with his troops," she answered, deliberately taking a shot at the man.

Charles bristled at her veiled insult, "I didn't mean King Derek and you know it. I want to meet his mate, the former urchin that you all elevated to a king."

"Ah…Spencer…why didn't you say so?" the dowager asked innocently, choosing to ignore his goading.

"Woman –"

"Unfortunately, you are out of luck Charles. King Spencer is not here right now. He is out in the field, like his husband, leading one of the other units. I'm sure he's taking down one of your contingents as we speak," she lied flawlessly.

"You and I both know that's untrue. According to my spies he has been here the whole time, playing at kingly duties. So where is the coward?" Charles demanded.

Spencer was seething at the man's insult and started to turn around, intent upon defending his good name, when Diana's voice cut through the storm that had formed in his mind, "Boy, go and get King Charles a chair. We cannot keep him standing any longer."

The former slave looked up at his mother in disbelief. Did she really think that this scheme was going to work? "But –"

A crack sounded throughout the hollow room as Spencer fell over onto the floor with a resounding thud.

"Do as you're told boy!" Charles roared, shaking his hand after the forceful smack he planted on the side of the young king's face. "What kind of country are you running here? Your slaves don't even listen to you?"

Diana sat up straighter and gestured to Rossi to help her son up off the floor. "We treat all of our subjects with respect Charles, and I expect you to do the same!"

"Treat a slave with respect? Not bloody likely."

Spencer rolled over and wiped the side of his mouth in an effort to remove the blood trickling from the corner. He looked over at the man that had just struck him and shivered at his daunting appearance. He was a towering man with dark hair and a beard trailing down his face. His visage was scarred with years of abuse; wrinkles ravaged every corner and blemishes disfiguring what was probably once a handsome looking man.

Behind him were an army of guards and two men that held a remarkable resemblance to the king. The first man was nearly identical to Charles in looks and age, except he seemed to be in better shape and slightly taller. On his hip he wore an intimidating broadsword that had a unique black blade mounted on a silver hilt embedded with rubies. His hair was the same jet black as the monarchs but it was longer and pulled back at his neck in a ponytail.

The other figure was much younger than the other two, closer to Spencer and Derek's age if the young king had to guess. He was sporting a scruffy unkempt beard that he was probably growing in order to make him look older. He seemed incredibly uncomfortable with that Charles was doing for his fingers were fidgeting as he looked around the room as if he expected something to jump out at him.

"Get up off the ground you piece of filth and get me that chair," the man ordered, pulling Spencer out of his observations.

Rossi stretched out his hand and helped Spencer up off the floor. He stood up and brushed himself off, realizing for the first time how his soiled clothes were helping to support the illusion of his rank. He squared his shoulders and looked to his mother. He nodded his head at her and went to grab an extra chair that was sitting off in a corner.

Spencer quickly brought the chair back, more than aware that all the eyes in the room were on him. He placed the wooden seat on the stage next to his mother and stepped back with a bow.

He held his bent position, intent on keeping his face toward the floor until the rival king had sat down. What he didn't expect was a ruff finger to be placed under his chin and it lifted up to stare right into the eyes of the man he was now trying to avoid.

"He may not mind your orders but he sure is good to look at," Charles remarked, his piercing orbs scrutinizing the boy's appearance.

"Really now Charles, I'm sure you have plenty of pleasing people surrounding you on a daily basis," Diana said, trying to divert his attention.

The man chuckled, "That I do…and yet…"

"So where were we?" Diana questioned sternly.

The country's nemesis pulled his finger from Spencer's chin and turned back to the dowager queen. "I was asking you where I can find this spineless slave that had been turned into a king."

"And I told you –"

Before the queen mother could even finish her sentence Charles snapped his finger and his right-hand man drew his sword and aimed to straight at Diana's chest.

"Think carefully about your answer, m'lady."

Spencer's mother stayed strong under the point of the sword, "I will not compromise his location. Surely even you can respect that, sir."

"I do, my dear lady…I do. But I'm afraid you are forcing my hand with your refusal to talk."

"Raze the castle then! You could turn it upside down and set fire all our crops, I still won't reveal His Grace's whereabouts," she said fearlessly.

"That's what I thought you'd say," Charles said, sitting back comfortably in his chair as he signaled to his man.

At the same time that Charles was speaking, Spencer, unable to stay silent any longer, stepped forth with every intent to reveal himself.

"Enou-" the boy stopped short as he watched with horrified eyes as the sleek black blade glided effortlessly through his mother's heart and pulled back out with the sheen of blood glinting in the light.

"NO!" he screamed as he watched Diana's eyes go wide in surprise. Her mouth formed a small "o" shape before she slumped over the arm of her seat, lifeless and bloody.

"You bastards! Mo-"

Out of nowhere one hand wrapped around his waist while another enveloped his mouth, silencing his cry for his mother. He thrashed about in the hands of his captor, struggling to free himself from the vicelike grip. He watched helplessly as Lord Rossi cried out his own lament and collapsed to his knees in front of his beloved.

Spencer was still fighting with the arms as he watched Charles stand up from his seat and pull his own sword out of its sheath. He then stepped forth wordlessly and stabbed Lord Rossi straight through the back. The old man straightened up momentarily in shock and then tumbled down into a heap on the floor.

The young king knew he was shouting out obscenities behind the strong hand that gripped his face and he could feel his uncontrollable tears streaming down his face.

The hold on him tightened and forced him to turn with the strong body behind him.

"Raphael, get that slave out of here and secure him back in my tent. He will make an excellent addition to my household," Charles directed as he brushed a stray tear away from Spencer's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Then get back in here and I want you and Tobias to search every nook and cranny of this castle. Annihilate everything and everyone in your path until that pathetic excuse for a king is found."

Raphael, the man that must have been holding his body captive, pulled Spencer backwards and out the door. The boy was kicking and clawing the whole way, trying with all his might to get back to his mother and her lifeless body that was now sprawled out dead upon her ceremonial throne.

* * *

**Surprised?**


	3. Spoils of War

**Hi Friends!**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing! I sincerely hope you enjoy where this is headed.**

**I forgot to let you guys know that there will be non-con in this story. Sorry...it's going to happen...(honestly, what else would expect of me? lol)**

**Please forgive my mistakes! It's late and I wanted to give you something to start your week off with.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Derek swung his sword in a large arc, hitting the enemy soldier on the horse next to him. The other man took the staggering blow on his left shoulder and promptly plummeted from his saddle and down to the ground. The king didn't wait to see if the man was dead; for he was sure that the trampling of hooved feet would finish the job for him if need be. The young man just moved on to the next foe in line, letting out a battle cry as he renewed his grip on the heavy instrument of destruction that he was wielding.

Around him the battlefield was wrought in chaos. There were troops from both sides crying out on the ground, desperate for help that would never come. Derek did everything thing he could to mentally push past the shrieks of anguish that were swirling around him but he still found them hard to ignore. Deep inside his conscience was frantically urging him to jump off his horse and aid those in need and it was getting harder and harder to close his mental eyes against the carnage.

The battle, which was still currently raging around him, was of epic proportions. King Charles had sent over eight hundred men fight against Derek and his much smaller group of five hundred. Fortunately, Derek and Sir Hotchner had built up a strong army over the last four years, instilling in the men sword skills that were second to none.

The king was proud of his troops as they fought the larger contingent of soldiers. In the few moments he had between each attack he could see that the majority of injuries and deaths were wearing red and black, not Quantico green. It was a motivating factor that helped inspire his troops to fight harder; for they could see that they were more successful than their opponents. In fact, the opposing side's body count so far was due only to Derek's group alone; Sir Kassmeyer and his troops hadn't even sprung up from behind the enemy yet. Once that realization dawned on the king he knew without a doubt that the outcome of this battle was going to be in Quantico's favor.

The young monarch stole a huge breath and squared his shoulders. There were adversaries all around him and he couldn't afford to become distracted by ruminations. Out of nowhere a pain filled cry pierced the air and the Quantico standard bearer, a boy no older than sixteen, who had been riding next to him took a blade in the gut and fell off his horse.

Derek felt immediate remorse at the loss of such a young life. He was incredulous that any soldier on either side of the battle would kill someone so young and defenseless. It would take a warrior with a cold cruel heart to kill a child that was in no way a threat to him.

The king released a furious growl at the thought of having to tell this young man's parents the bad news. He looked up from the boy's body and straight into the face of the opposing side's commander.

The two formidable men sat face to face on their horses, as the rest of the battlefield seemed to disappear around them.

"What is your name, coward?" Derek demanded of the black man in front of him.

The older soldier man's lips formed a smirk, "And what, pray tell, gives you the authority to call me a coward, Your Highness?" The last two words were said in a mocking tone, meant to signify his contempt for the young monarch.

"Only a coward would kill an unarmed man," Derek snarled, his lip curling in disgust.

"Man? Hardly? More like a boy…tell me, Your Highness, do you purposefully surround yourself with delicious looking children. I mean really, if I wasn't trying to win this battle for King Charles I would be more concerned with capturing some of your soldiers and taking them to my bed," the older man laughed with a sick sparkle in his eye.

Disgusted by the man's admission, Derek raised his sword and shouted, "You will never get the chance!"

The other man raised his blade high and countered, "We'll see about that, Your Highness. Oh, and you can call me Buford."

Derek barely had time to process the man's name as Buford's sword swung down and narrowly missed his left shoulder. The king, spurned into action, jabbed his blade straight at the knight commander's heart but his attack was easily deflected by the veteran soldier.

"You'll have to do better than that, boy," the knight called out, disrespecting the younger man on purpose.

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Derek sneered confidently as the two circled their horses around one another.

The monarch took his time, looking for a weak spot but keeping up his defenses.

"I believe that! But that is not threat – because there is so much more of you that I would love to see," Buford taunted, licking his lips as if he was tasting a delectable sweet treat.

Unable to contain his anger and revulsion at the knight's obvious tastes, Derek released a mighty roar and feigned a hard swing toward Buford's neck. He halted the blade's arc in midair and redirected it toward the knight's wrist.

Unfortunately, the commander had more experience than Derek and was able to spot the fake attack. He dipped his head and shifted his horse away from the knife's-edge. He had managed to weasel himself into Derek's space their horses practically touching, and jabbed his elbow into Derek's chin.

The king felt the blow and blacked out momentarily.

"Open your eyes and look to the sky, Your Highness. Let the last sight you see be me," Buford shouted from his perch up on his horse.

Derek shook his head back and forth in an effort to clear his vision. He blinked his eyes and was greet by the site of a gray stallion framed by a baby blue sky. The shadow of a man tipped over the side of the horse, revealing Buford's visage.

The other man jumped down off his horse and stood over his prey, a triumphant smile on his face. "I'm sorry that I won't be able to enjoy your youth, boy. I'm sure it would have tasted sweet." As he discharged his final torment from his mouth he swung his sword up high and brought the tip down, stabbing it into Derek's stomach.

A torturous groan issued forth from Derek's throat as his vision faded. His last thought was of Spencer's crooked smile and his regret for breaking his promise to come home.

* * *

Spencer struggled with all his might against the iron grip that was pulling him away from his home. He needed to get back to his mother; he had to see if there was any way to save her. He knew the likelihood of her surviving the stab was low but he couldn't give up hope.

Not knowing what else to do he brought his hands up and scratched his nails deep into the man's forearms. He dragged them all the way down the exposed flesh, accumulating pieces of skin in the crevasses along the way.

"Gah!" Raphael exclaimed at the sudden stripes decorated his skin. He dropped Spencer down to the ground and gave him a swift kick in the ribs. "You fucking piece of shit. I'll teach you to not to hurt me!" The man punctuated each word he said with another strike to the boy's midsection. The co-king waited for the man to stop before he rolled himself into a ball and coughed uncontrollably. He then over dramatized his reaction to his injuries in the hopes that the man would let his guard down and give him a chance to escape.

So, he turned his back toward the man and groaned in pain as he clutched his stomach. He listened closely and soon heard Raphael ask a squire to run and get him a few bandages for his arms. While the other man was sufficiently distracted, Spencer heaved himself up on his shaky legs and took off at a sprint.

The former slave aimed his sights on the barn off in the distance. He hoped to reach his horse and run off into the woods; there he could lay low until it was safe to come back to the castle and pick up the pieces that remained.

He had gotten halfway to his goal when his legs were suddenly hit with heavy weights that were attached to ropes. Two of the three stone balls delivered mighty blows to each limb, knocking him off his feet, while the third wrapped the rope around both legs, entangling them so he couldn't get back up.

He ended up falling flat on his face in the dirt; the right side took the most abuse due to the sharp pebbles and rocks that were hidden by the grass. His hands were splayed out at his sides from his attempt at softening his fall. As he gathered his senses he gently moved his right hand up to his cheek, inspecting the gashes that marred his tender skin.

Moments later the sound of boot clad feet assaulted his ears, inciting Spencer to open his eyes and see the source of the noise land right in front of his nose.

"You sure are a dumb shit. Did you really think you were going to get away from me?" growled the grizzled man.

Spencer remained silent as he tried to regulate his breathing in an effort to stave of the impending panic attack that was slowly building in his chest due to his failure.

"You're lucky that the king wants you alive because if it was up to me I would have killed you for what you just pulled," Raphael muttered, kneeling down next to the prone boy in order to bind his limbs securely.

Spencer tried hold back a sob of defeat when he felt Raphael grab his arms and force them behind his back. The rough ropes twisted around his wrists, locking them together tightly. "You could let me go. I'll just run off into the woods and I won't come back. You could tell him I tricked one of the other guards and then I'll be out of your hair," he suggested as his bindings cut through his paper-thin skin.

"Keep wishing," he said, ignoring the kid's feeble plea.

"But it's wrong to take me from my home, my friends…my…my family," he said, trying to appeal to the man's sense of decency and avoid saying Derek's name at the same time.

"Right or wrong doesn't matter. All that matters is if it is the King's will," Raphael said emotionlessly.

Spencer gulped at the response, knowing that there would be no reasoning with this man. Instead he sucked in the groan that was threatening to break loose and allowed himself to be thrown over the man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

* * *

The journey to King Charles's tent didn't take long and before he knew it Spencer was sprawled out on the hard ground. He rolled over onto his back and looked up at Raphael. The soldier didn't pay attention to the king he had mistaken for a slave and set about prepping the room.

While the other man was busy off in the corner, the young king took a moment to observe his surroundings. Unsurprisingly he found that his rival monarch's lodgings were extravagant, even by kingly standards. The man had everything a normal bedroom would contain and then some.

For starters, the fabric that surrounded them was of a brilliant golden brocade etched with Charles's coat of arms. It was a thick cloth that easily kept the wind and rain at bay while making sure the ruler housed inside would never experience an uncomfortable temperature. Off to one side there was a large ornate tub tucked into one corner, empty for now, but waiting for later when the king would want to enjoy a soak after a long day. In the center of the tent sat the fire-pit. It was small but effective, roaring away with the help of at least ten thick logs. Over the flames was a spit that had some unfortunate creature roasting and sizzling as its fat dripped down into the fire. Above the blaze, in the roof of the tent, a vent had been constructed in order to give the smoke a route to escape. Then there was a massive oak table set up next to the pit that had foods that Spencer had never seen before spread out over its vast expanse. The former slave marveled at the fact that all of those delicacies had to have been brought along on the campaign just to satiate the selfish king. Beyond that, an enormous wardrobe was stationed in the corner overflowing with costumes and regal attire for the King to don while he was at war.

Of course, none of those showy pieces were even able to hold a candle to the bed that King Charles had forced his servants to bring along. It was a massive piece of furniture that would easily hold up to seven adult sized bodies. It was covered in a deep red velvet blanket and at least ten pillows of varying sizes and shapes. To top it all off, the frame of the bed was accentuated with four posts that narrowly scraped the roof of the tent and were connect to each other via another wooden frame. There was also a curtain that matched the bed spread draped around the upper supports that had golden thread woven throughout it. The fabric hung down from the two posts near the headboard and could be brought about the bed when needed to allow the king some privacy while he slept. As Spencer gaped at the bed he realized that the tent must have been constructed around it; for it would have been too large to carry through the slit in the fabric that was used as a door.

"Don't even think about trying to escape boy," Raphael growled as he made his way back over to Spencer.

"I…I wasn-"

"Don't lie to me boy. I could see your roaming eyes looking for weaknesses," the man snarled, grabbing the former slave's hair and forcing his head up to meet his gaze.

"I-I-I swear I wasn't l-look-"

A loud whacking sound resonated throughout the room after Raphael's hand connected sharply against Spencer's injured cheek.

"I can't abide liars," he said gruffly, grabbing his captive under his arms and dragging him over to the bed. The man made fast work of retying the ropes around the former slave's wrist so that he was now fastened to one of the bedposts.

"If you can't speak the truth, then you don't get to talk at all," he said furiously as he grabbed a handkerchief out from under his armor and fastened it around Spencer's head.

The young boy bit at the foul tasting cloth and did his best to give the man a ferocious glare.

Raphael laughed at the kid's attempt at intimidation, "Next time learn to tell the truth. It will help you greatly when the king questions you later. He has less tolerance for liars than I do." Once he had concluded his sentence the knight stood up from his crouched position and left the co-king all alone in the tent.

* * *

"Your Highness!"

"Your Highness, can you hear me?"

"Your Grace, you need to wake up."

Derek could hear the persistent voices penetrating the darkness that surrounded him. His abdomen was radiating waves of pain, its throbbing matching the beating of his heart. He let out a pained groan and felt the fog that had been obscuring his consciousness clear a little.

"That's it, Sire. Open those eyes."

The king moaned again but he reluctantly followed the orders of the concerned voice that belonged to Sir Hotchner.

He blinked multiple times as the light of the sun constricted his pupils. He realized that he was lying on his back with a few soldiers milling around him.

"What happened?" he croaked out, squinting his eyes until they grew accustom to the bright beams.

Hotchner sighed and kneeled down next to the cot that was supporting the monarch. "You were knocked off your horse and stabbed in the gut."

His injury seemed to flare to life with the knight's reminder. He brought his hand up to the wound and tried to press on it to assuage the stinging. Unfortunately, his actions did the opposite of what he intended and caused more pain to flow through his body. "Oh god…How bad?"

"We almost lost you, Your Highness."

"How…how did you…"

"You were lucky. Right after you were stabbed Sir Kassmeyer and his troops showed up and distracted your assailant from finishing the job. My squire was able to get over to you during the confusion and he pulled you out of the fray and to our physician," Hotch explained.

"Buford…"

"Pardon me, Your Grace?"

"My assailant…he said his name was Buford."

Derek noticed how Sir Hotchner's face grew dark at the man's name. "Do you recognize his name?"

"Yes," the knight gritted out.

"And?"

"He was here the last time King Charles came to visit. I didn't get to interact with him much but I heard rumors…," he trailed off.

"What do you mean, rumors?"

"The other squires told me to steer clear of him. They said…they said that he liked the taste of fresh meat."

Anger flashed across the king's face. "I'll lay odds those weren't just rumors. He alluded to his tastes when we were fighting. He said…he said-" Derek cut himself off from the rest of his sentence when he remembered there were more people listening to his recapitulation than just his friend and confidant.

Hotchner could tell that whatever was said between the two had shook his king to the core. "It can wait, Your Grace."

Derek nodded, thankful that the other man was insightful enough not to push him. Suddenly, he realized that he had no idea what had happened throughout the rest of the battle. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around himself frantically. His eyes scanned the area around his prone body and didn't see any signs of danger. There were just soldiers milling about getting food, resting against trees, and taking care of the other injured fighters.

He turned his discerning eyes back to his faithful friend, "The battle?"

"We were triumphant, Your Highness."

Derek let out the breath of air he had been holding and relaxed back onto the cushioned bed, "Triumphant?"

"Yes. Thanks in part to our tactical decisions. They honestly thought they had us for a minute but when Sir Kassmeyer and his men came over the rise they saw that they were outnumbered. Instead of staying and fighting it out till the bitter end Buford called a retreat and they galloped off with their tails between their legs," Hotch said with a satisfied smile.

"Cowards," Derek remarked.

Hotchner hummed his agreement and stood up from the monarch's bedside. "Get some rest, Your Grace. We'll start our journey back to the castle tomorrow."

The young king, whose eyes were practically closed, jolted up from the bed and cried out, "Spencer!" He pushed his aching body up with all the strength he could gather and turned to put his feet on the ground.

Sir Hotchner reacted quickly to Derek's alarm and put his hands on his friend's shoulders, pushing him back down. "No, Your Grace. You must rest. Your injury was too severe for you to be up and about right now. You are in no shape to ride with that wound and the physician said that you shouldn't even attempt to walk for another two days. He's afraid that you'll bust open your stitches and bleed out."

"I don't care. It's been over two days since Anderson rode out to let us know about the attack. Who knows what's going on at the castle! I have to – we have to get back!"

"But it is not safe for you to travel. Tomorrow is even going to be precarious but we're fashioning you a makeshift carriage for you to ride in when we leave in the morning."

"I can ride a horse just fine! Now get your hands off of me!"

Hotchner stood strong, never letting his grip weaken.

"Let go! You don't understand! We left them practically defenseless…my mom…our friends...Spencer…he could be…they could be…"

"Dead," the knight said blatantly.

Derek flinched at his friend's blunt word.

"Trust me, Your Highness, I do understand…Haley's there too," the knight said compassionately. "But we must keep our heads and not go storming off in a fit of emotions. This country cannot afford to lose you too! We will do this smartly and safely and arrive back at home in one piece. And whatever we find when we get there we will confront together."

The king hung his head in defeat. He knew his friend was right but that didn't stop his heart from aching at the thought that his beloved was dead.

* * *

The tear tracks from earlier had dried on the boy's chapped cheeks. His eyes had run out of moisture to shed a few hours ago and since then he had been trying to get the image of his mother out of his brain.

At the moment he had his bound legs stretched out in front of him and his head leaned back against the post. His mouth was dry due to the cloth absorbing all of his saliva and his throat was scratchy and raw. His fingers were hanging limply behind his back, numb now due to the rope cutting off his circulation. He had worked on freeing himself the whole time but the knots never unraveled.

The co-king was just about to allow himself to try to sleep when a trumpet blared outside of the tent and the door was pulled back letting in a large gust of cold air. Spencer's eyes snapped open instantly and watched as the king stalked menacingly into the shelter.

"I don't understand! Are you sure your men searched everywhere?" he growled on his way over to the dining table.

"Yes, Your Highness. I double checked everything." Raphael stated, following behind the man.

"And what about your men?" Charles demanded of the younger man whose name still eluded Spencer.

"My-my men were v-very thorough, f-father. We found no sign of h-him or the other courtiers," the boy said nervously.

A snarl escaped Charles's lips at his son's response. "Then where the hell is he? Our spies were very adamant that he has been here the whole time. I want to leave more than the body of the queen mother in my wake. What could be better than the King Derek coming home to see his young lover's head on a spike up on the ramparts? That would definitely convince the naïve child that he needs to give me what I want."

Spencer's brown orbs grew wide at hearing his fate if Charles discovered who he actually was.

"We will look again tomorrow, Your Grace. And this time I will bring in the dogs," Raphael said.

Charles grunted at the man's plan and sat down at the table. He then waved at the other two figures in the room to join him and started to tuck into his meal.

"What would I do without you, dear brother?" the king said between mouthfuls. "Definitely not rely upon my son."

The young man flushed at his father's callous comment and tilted his head down in shame.

"Ha…truer words were never spoken. But nonetheless, I will find him for you."

"What if you don't?" came the boy's meek voice with a tiny bit of heat behind it.

"What was that Tobias?" Raphael demanded, not used to the boy being antagonistic.

"I said, what if you don't find him. Did we really just come here to kill King Derek's lover?"

Charles sat down his fork on the table and stared at his son. "No boy. We did not come here just to kill the king's husband. Our main goal is still to seize the major access points to this country's lucrative resources. We will secure the waterways for transporting goods and then we will move further into the country and harvest the minerals and timber. There is much money to be made off this land and it's high time that it fills my coffers."

"So we're just in this for the spoils of war?" Tobias asked naively.

"No son! The most important thing that we will receive when our side is victorious is power. Soon enough the world will learn know my name and cower at my feet," Charles gloated. The arrogant man took a long swig of his mead after his diatribe and let out a mighty belch.

The young man looked at his father with trepidation and simply said, "Oh."

"Speaking of spoils…leave me. Now," Charles ordered with an evil glint in his wolfish eyes.

Raphael and Tobias both got up immediately and left their unfinished meals on the table. They both knew not to protest their sudden dismissal or else they would have the wrath of the king to face.

Spencer, who had been watching the whole exchange from his position against the bed, started squirming against his bonds in distress. The tent doors swished shut and the young man held his breath in anticipation of what Charles would do now that they were alone.

Strangely, the king continued to sit in his chair and finished his meal. The mighty monarch didn't seem to be in any rush as he savored each bite of his mouthwatering fare.

Ten minutes later the man finally set his fork down and pushed himself away from the table. He ambled off to the other side of the tent and soon after Spencer could hear the trickling sound of the monarch relieving himself in a chamber pot.

Once he was done answering the call of nature, Charles slowly stepped toward the bed. When he got close to the restrained captive he crouched down and stared deep into Spencer's eyes.

"Raphael told me about your disobedience earlier. He also told me about how your tongue has tendency to lie. I do not tolerate any of those qualities in the people that surround me, especially not from a slave," Charles stated, his words accentuated with a dangerous tone.

Spencer, unable to move, did the only thing he could and tilted his head down away from the man's scrutiny.

The king snarled at the loss of eye contact and grabbed the young man's bony chin, forcing it up so their gazes would meet.

"You will learn, boy…oh will you learn. In fact, your first lesson is going to start now."

Spencer cringed back into the post, his deep pools that once sparkled with laughter and amusement now shining with intense terror.


	4. Left Behind

**Hi Friends!**

**Ugh! Was this chapter ever a $&amp; ( to write. It was weird...I knew exactly what I wanted to happen but I was having one hell of a time getting all of the words out. I'm really sorry if this chapter feels overworked and in need of improvement, but at this point I feel like any more editing on my part will do more harm than good.**

**Thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed! I would love to respond to all of you but my little girl seems to think she should take up all of my spare time :)**

**Ah..FYI - Zeldawolf2000 was kind enough to bring up the skewed timelines. Yes, Derek and Spencer are not on the same exact day. For the purposes of this chapter, the majority of Spencer's storyline is occurring on Wednesday night and Derek's part of the story is occurring on Thursday. I will be bringing the timelines together in the next chapter. Sorry if this was confusing for anyone!**

**Please forgive my mistakes...I'm sure there are a few.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The man's threat resonated in Spencer's ear as he sat trembling on the cold hard ground, still helplessly tied to the bed. He desperately wished the handkerchief wasn't lodged in his mouth because he wanted to shout out and proclaim his innocence against the other man's charges. Although, deep down he knew that he could protest Charles's allegations all he wanted and it wouldn't make a difference. The other king had already made up his mind and wasn't open to hearing anything that would contradict his beliefs. So instead of debasing himself further with muffled pleas that would be ignored he gathered his courage and tried to maintain an expressionless face.

Unfortunately, his attempt at controlling his features was a failure. For he knew his countenance took on an alarmed appearance when the hardhearted king went over to the small pile of wood that sat by the fire and picked up a log the size of Derek's forearm. What was this mad man planning to do to him?

Charles, who had been keenly observing his prey, chuckled as the boy's eyes grew wide at the sight of the wooden bludgeon gripped tightly in his hands. His gut stirred in delight at the vision of unadulterated fear that swept over the slave's visage. The king closed his eyes and basked in the rush of power that flowed through his body at the thought that he had caused such a delicious reaction in his captive.

A small sniffle caused him to crack his eyes open and behold the gorgeous boy's form once again. A sardonic smile formed on his lips as he crouched down and grabbed his captive's ankles. He untied the rope that was holding them together and tossed it off to the side. His prey gave him a confused look in an effort to discern his intentions, but Charles's face gave nothing away.

He was about to drop the kid's feet back down to the ground when a hint of green caught his eye. He let go of Spencer's left foot and tightened his grip on the right. He brought the appendage in question up higher and inspected the shoe that housed it.

"These are some really nice shoes…especially for a slave," Charles stated, squinting his eyes at the hand-stitched leather that had been decorated with hunter green accents. The king looked back up at his prisoner and allowed his eyes to rove over the rest of his clothing.

Spencer worried about being scrutinized too closely, tried to jerk his foot out of the man's grasp in a desperate attempt to distract those dark discerning eyes away from his apparel. For he knew without a doubt that he had to maintain the slave ruse or else Charles would make good on his threat from last night and kill him.

The king was surprised when the slave's foot was yanked from his fingers. He furrowed his brow and emitted a low rumble from his throat. The usurping monarch did not like the defiant streak that he saw developing in the boy and knew just how to take care of it. He quickly reached out and snatched the youth's left ankle and removed the fancy shoe, tossing it to the ground without any further regard for the fancy fabric it was made out of.

"Didn't your previous masters teach you obedience?" he growled, pulling the boy's leg straight out and tightening his grip around the scrawny ankle. He then gave the slave a self-satisfied smile and drew back his hand.

Spencer gnashed his teeth against the cloth filling his mouth and tried to give the man the most submissive look he could muster.

Charles didn't buy the captive's expression. "Well, you will learn to mind me," he stonily stated as he brought the wood down and stuck the center of his prisoner's bare foot.

Unable to maintain his silence, the young sovereign let out an animalistic yelp of pain. Tears immediately welled in his eyes as his mind brought up facts about the human body and how the foot contained some of the largest bundles of sensitive nerve endings. It was a fact he was surprised to learn while he was studying human anatomy years ago with Lord Gideon. And with that knowledge he knew that any more smacks from King Charles's wooden torture tool would cause him to feel pain comparable to his collar being fused shut around his neck.

"That was for trying to get free from my brother earlier," the king explained, raising his instrument of pain once again. "Now this one is for lying, something that you should avoid doing ever again in the presence of myself or my men."

The young man on the floor clenched his eyes shut upon hearing those words and tried to force his mind to another place, one where the strong arms of his husband were wrapped around him, holding him tight.

* * *

Another loud snore perforated the silence of the tent as Charles slept deeply on the bed behind the bound co-king. It had been three days since the Georgian's had attacked the castle and Spencer had spent them all on the floor, tied to the king's bed.

He was only allowed up to answer the call of nature and it was never unsupervised. Other than that he had pretty much become a fixture of the room, ignored and overlooked as the king and his men searched for the one person that kept alluding their clutches, him.

One more snore assaulted his ears as the young monarch stretched out his left foot and stared at the black and blue appendage. Charles had given him at ten swats with the wooden log, each one stronger than the one preceding it. At the time the punishment was occurring the young man had thought his foot was being broken but now he could see that it was only deeply bruised and incredibly swollen. Based upon the sight before him, he knew that the simple act of walking was going to be painful for weeks to come.

The genius let out a heavy breath through his nose and stared at the dwindling fire as he allowed his mind to reflect upon the past few days.

He had discovered quite a bit of information about his captors while he was forced into his position as a fly on the wall. For instance, Spencer had learned all about the Georgian's war strategies and their plans for Quantico's resources and land. Though by far, the most valuable piece of information he was able to discern were the family dynamics. It didn't take long for him to learn that Raphael was just as sinister and malicious as his brother while the son, Tobias, was generally ridiculed by the other two and ostracized for his weak demeanor. Overall, it was pretty clear that the king hated his son and resented his inability to live up to the monarch's standards.

Suddenly, a scream tore through the air immediately outside the cloth tent door. The shrill sound caused the slumbering king behind Spencer to shoot upright in the bed and fling the covers off of his body.

"What the hell?" he practically shouted as he grabbed a robe and tied it around his waist.

The youth on the floor was just as surprised by the sound and craned his neck to follow the king's movements with his wide owlish eyes.

The angry ruler stomped over to the door and ripped it open, revealing billowing blue skirts with tiny heel clad feet kicking up a fuss.

"Let me go!" a familiar feminine voice shrieked as she was carried into the tent by Raphael.

"What is the meaning of this?" Charles bellowed, stepping away from the woman's wild movements.

The king's brother dropped the struggling female to the ground and she landed with an "Oof!"

Spencer fought against his bonds, straining his neck in an effort to see above the ruffles that blocked a view of the girl's face. He watched with bated breath as her creamy white hands pushed down the skirts that seemed to have swallowed her whole. She then planted her palms on the ground next to her and shoved her body up off the ground and into a sitting position, her blonde hair hiding her features from sight.

"The night's watch found her scrounging around in the kitchen and brought her to me," Raphael explained, kneeling down next to the newest captive. "She must have been hiding out somewhere in the castle with the rest of the missing courtiers. I figured that we could force her to lead us to their hideout and see if that coward of a king is hiding there amongst them," he ventured, grabbing her neck and forcing her to look up at the king.

The tendrils of hair that had been masking her appearance from Spencer fell away and revealed the lovely, yet currently distressed, visage of Lady Jennifer. Spencer felt himself shout out to his friend against his better judgment. "Jennifer!" came the stifled call, sounding more like a loud moan than her name.

All eyes turned toward the trussed young man, one pair curious, one annoyed, and the girl's beautiful blue set were surprised.

"Shut the hell up, boy!" Charles snarled as he stepped over to the slave and gave him another vicious slap.

The sharp smack turned Spencer's head to the side, splitting his lip and tearing his cheek on the ornate wood frame of the bed.

Lady Jennifer cried out in surprise, "No!" She made to get up off the ground but Raphael tightened his grip on her neck, keeping her in place.

"I'd hold your tongue too, if I were you, m'lady," he sneered.

She snapped her jaw shut and looked at her friend with a worried look fixed on her features.

The young man blinked his eyes in an effort to dispel the stars that were monopolizing his vision. He shook his head back and forth and slowly brought his gaze upward to meet his friends. He gave her a weak smile around the gag in order to reassure her that he would be alright.

She nodded her head slightly at his gesture and looked back up at Charles, "Let us go!"

The man scoffed at her demands, "Us? I only see you. And no, my brother is right…you could prove to be quite useful."

"There is no way that I'm going to help you. You're crazy –"

Her words were abruptly cut off as Charles backhanded Spencer.

Outrage showed on her face as she tried to scramble toward her friend, "What did you do that for? He didn't say anything!"

Charles grinned with pleasure and laughed out loud, "You, my dear, are being incredibly disrespectful to your new sovereign. And you seem to be genuinely invested in the condition of this slave, so what better way to teach you manners than to take it out on him."

"I-I'm not-"

"Don't play dumb with my, my lady. You've only been in here three minutes and I can tell you are dying to go to his side."

Jennifer ceased her protests, realizing that the man had a point.

"Now be polite and answer a few questions for me. Why don't we start with something simple? Like, what is you name?"

Spencer watched his friend struggle internally as she decided whether or not to answer the man. Her delicate hands wrapped around her stomach as if she was hugging herself and she looked off to the side.

"Jennifer," she murmured.

"What was that? Speak louder and address me appropriately," Charles demanded.

A spark of fire flashed in her eyes as she turned her icy blue star toward the formidable man, "I said my name is Jennifer, but if you think I'm going to address you as my king you are quite mistaken!"

A burst of pride erupted in Spencer's chest at his friend's outright defiance of the usurper.

In contrast, Charles let out a roar and jumped to his feet. He kicked his bare foot into the boy's stomach as he marched over to the girl and grabbed her by her forearms, hauling her up off the ground. "I am not above hurting you too, Lady Jennifer. But before I do I will make sure that piece of dirt slave behind me suffers everything coming to you twofold. Am I making myself clear?"

Panic gripped the captive woman as the man's gravelly voice barked in her face. The terrified blonde knew that the man wasn't bluffing and that if she wanted her and Spencer to come out of this in one piece she was going to have to tone down her insolence. "Y-yes, Y-your Grace," she stuttered out, doing her best to placate the beast she had awoken.

"That's more like it," the king said smugly, releasing his grip on her arms.

She crashed back down to the ground in a heap and rubbed her abused backside. She looked over to Spencer and saw how upset he was at her harsh treatment. "I'm alright," she mouthed before wrapping her arms back around her midsection.

Charles, aware of their little exchange of assurances, decided to use their friendship against them. "Now, let's try this again. In fact, to be nice I'll start with an extremely easy question and work my way up from there." He paused and looked down at the girl to make sure she was listening. "What is my new slave's name?"

Silence reigned throughout the room as Jennifer scrambled to come up with an answer that wouldn't reveal Spencer's identity. She wasn't sure how but the pompous king that was towering above her had yet to realize that he had one of Quantico's co-kings in his clutches and she didn't want to be the one to bring that to his attention.

"Well, my lady? I'm waiting," he said, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Uh-I…"

"This shouldn't be so hard. I just want to know his name. I haven't had enough time to bother to ask him yet and since you seem to be his friend…well?" Charles prompted, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"It…it's Reid."

* * *

To say Derek was pissed would have been a gross understatement. It had been two whole days since his altercation without Buford out on the battlefield and the army had yet to pack up and leave. According to Sir Hotchner they had misjudged the amount of wounded that needed to be transported back to the castle and every man that wasn't injured was busy trying to create makeshift carts to haul all the incapacitated soldiers and dead bodies.

Of course, the king understood the importance of going home as a unit and bringing back the deceased to their loved ones for a proper burial but he couldn't help but selfishly want to leave them behind. For his mind was swirling with possible scenarios as to what might have happened to the poorly defended castle and he desperately wanted to get home in order to check on his loved ones. Unfortunately, there was no way that wish was going to come true; he was utterly useless due to his wounds and all he could do is sit and wait for the army to be ready to march.

Currently, the king was sitting by a fire on a stool that was backed up against a tree eating some stew. There were a few other soldiers were seated around him but none of them felt up for a conversation. It wasn't until Derek caught a glimpse of Sir Hotchner walking by, discussing something with Sir Kassmeyer that the young man broke the veil of silence that had settled over the assembled fighters.

"Sir Hotcher, any news?"

Aaron turned immediately at the sound of the king's voice and bowed to him, "Actually, you were just the man I was looking for, Your Highness. It looks like the carts will be ready by tonight. Would you like to set off immediately or wait till the light of dawn?"

Derek gave the man a look of utter incredulity, "At once, of course!"

Hotchner nodded his head; he would have been surprised if the sovereign's answer would have been any different. "Alright, Your Grace. I will have the men start loading up the supplies and the injured. Why don't you finish your meal get everything set and then we'll come back and load you up into your wagon?"

Frustrated that he couldn't be more useful, Derek just grumbled his acceptance and watched his men go about their work. He would give anything to be able to get up and help them out. As king of the realm it was his duty to pull his weight and be a good example for his men. If it wasn't for his damn injury he would be running all over the field, giving orders and lending a hand. As it were, all he could do was sit back and observe the bustle of his homesick soldiers.

Moodily, he placed his half empty stew bowl off to the side; his appetite had vanished because of the knots that had formed in his stomach from the anticipation of their departure.

Soon he would discover what awaited him back home and finally find out the fate of his beloved.

* * *

Spencer's head twisted around to see Charles's reaction.

"Reid? Like Derek Reid? Are you telling me that this young man is a member of the royal family?" the man asked with greed twinkling in his eyes.

"No…not like that, You Highness," she quickly corrected. "We call him Reid because of how tall and willowy he is. You know…like those plants you see growing near the river."

The king sat down on the bed next to his captive and carded his fingers through the boy's hair. "Reed…how fitting. You do slightly resemble those weeds with your scrawny body and unshorn hair." His thick fingers seized Spencer's honey locks tightly and pulled his head back. "Which is something that I'll have to do fix when we get home. No member of my household is allowed to look as unkempt as you."

Jennifer, feeling ill at the thought of this man taking her friend back to his country, cleared her throat to divert his attention.

The monarch looked back at her while he maintained a firm grip on the boy's hair, "What were you doing down in the kitchen?"

Pleased that she had successfully distracted him, the lady gladly answered, "I was hungry. I hadn't eaten since you invaded our castle."

"Just you were hungry or were your friends too?"

Knowing that she had been backed into another corner and rather than earning Spencer more pain by lying she told the truth, "Everyone was hungry."

He nodded smugly at her answer, almost like he was pleased with the simple deduction he made. "One last question, my lady. Is the king among your friends?"

"No," she answered swiftly with conviction.

"Don't lie to me. You wouldn't want me to mar this boy's perfect complexion," he threatened as he traced a finger down Spencer's sharp cheekbone.

"No, he wasn't among us," she reiterated, just as confidently as before.

Charles's eyes hardened as they searched her face. It almost felt like the man's beady orbs were trying to bore beneath the layers of her skin to find the truth.

Jennifer jerked back a little when Charles suddenly released his hold on the co-king's hair and stood up from the bed. With carefully placed steps he stalked over to her seated form and snapped his fingers at his brother. Raphael didn't miss a beat as he pulled out his sword and handed it hilt first to Charles.

Spencer started to thrash against his bonds in desperation. He couldn't bear to watch another family member fall to King Charles's blade.

The king, ignoring the boy's feeble writhing, aimed the tip of the steel blade straight at her swanlike neck, "Do you know, my lady, what I do to a woman who lies?"

Jennifer silently shook her head, keeping her gaze trained on the monarch's scowling face.

"I cut out her treacherous tongue and feed it to the dogs," he sneered.

Her eyes bulged in horror at the implication of his words. Behind the invading king Spencer was tugging fruitlessly against the ropes as his mind was assailed with flashbacks of his mother's and Lord Rossi's deaths.

"Lucky for you, I believe you," Charles said tersely, surprising the boy and his friend. He lowered the weapon and handed it back to his brother.

Raphael, who had been a silent observer up until then said, "I'll take her back to the castle tonight and have her show me their hiding spot. Perhaps we can take a few more courtiers prisoner and use them as bargaining chips against King Derek."

Charles nodded as he turned away from the girl on the floor, "Excellent idea, brother. I knew there was a reason I put you in charge of my army. I'll go wake my good for nothing son and have him get the dogs ready while you gather the men. Then I'll come back here and grab the lovely Lady Jennifer so she can assist us in our search. Won't you, girl?"

Jennifer averted her gaze away from the man, deigning not to answer his questions.

He laughed at her sudden meek demeanor, pleased to find that some of the fire she had when they first met had dimmed. "Oh, you'll be showing us every nook and cranny of that pile of bricks. The king must be hiding somewhere in that castle. I can picture him now, cowering in some darkened corner. His body shivering in fear as he cries for his lover. The look on his face when he sees me instead of his dear Derek will be priceless!"

Raphael grinned, "I'm sure the only thing that will top that is watching him piss himself as we separate his head from his neck."

"Ha! How right you are! Alright, what are we waiting for? Go get the men. I'm going to secure her and then I'll be on my way."

Raphael saluted appropriately and walked out of the tent.

The king turned back to his newest captive and hauled her over to the bed. He sat her next to Spencer and went to work fastening her delicate wrists to the part of the footboard that was above her head.

"Don't go anywhere my dear. I will be back for you soon," the two heard King Charles call before he walked out the door.

The second the tent flap closed the lady turned toward her friend and said, "Spence, are you alright?" The use of the king's nickname was commonplace among the two when they were alone.

Spencer spoke through the cloth, "I'll be okay."

Jennifer, upset that the gag was preventing him from speaking clearly, scooted her body right next to his and said, "Don't move." She leaned in as close as her bindings would allow and snapped her teeth around the cloth resting against Spencer's cheek. She gave it a few hefty tugs and loosened it enough to get it to drop down around his neck.

The youth instantly darted his tongue out of his mouth and moistened his dry lips, "Thank you."

"Spence…what is going on?"

He looked over at his friend and dropped his eyes, "He thinks I'm a slave. He intends on taking me back to Georgia with him and forcing me to…to…work in his household."

There were a few moments of silence as the two occupants of the tent contemplated what Spencer's new role would entail. When her thoughts on the matter went to places that were too dark to handle, Jennifer changed the subject, "Why does he think you're a slave?"

His fragile face crumbled at her question. "I-I was with the dowager queen and Lord Rossi in the great hall. I-I was kneeling before her begging her to go into hiding but she refused. He found us like that and the queen m-mother decided to address me as a slave to hide my identity. He never figured it out…but he…he…Oh God…JJ…he had his brother kill her…and then he turned his sword on Lord Rossi and ran him through."

The girl's heart broke at the utter anguish that was oozing in her friend's voice. She continued to struggle against the cords, longing to break free so she could gather him into a warm comforting embrace.

"Oh Spence…there's something you have to –," her words were cut off when the ropes around her right appendage loosened.

"What?"

Jennifer looked up at her wrist, whatever she had been going to say was now completely forgotten. "It's loose," she said in awe.

"Can you get free?"

"Maybe…if I...," JJ didn't finish her sentence and instead gathered her legs beneath her body. She pushed up on her knees and found herself level with her wrists. Using the same method she employed with Spencer's gag, she attacked the knot with her teeth.

In a matter of seconds the rough twine was fell to the ground and she was using her newly free limb to work on her left hand.

"Yes!" she exclaimed when she was completely liberated from the bed. She scrambled over to him and pushed him forward so that she could start to work on his fastenings.

Spencer felt a fleeting moment of hope before the reality of the situation slammed back into him, "No! Stop! You don't have enough time to free me too."

Jennifer bridled at his demand, "I can't just leave you here!"

"We don't have a choice. He could be back any second."

"No, there is no way I'm going without you," she said with tears in her eyes as she came to the realization that he was right.

Spencer gave her a broken smile, "I'll be alright. I promise. Anyways, you have to escape in order to tell Derek what happened to me."

"Spence…"

"I swear, I'll be okay. Please…please just tell Derek I love him and that I won't give up on him," his said with a cracked voice.

Jennifer bit her lip as she flung her arms around him in a quick embrace, "I'll tell him." She sat back on her heels and looked deep into his sorrowful honey-brown eyes, "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. Come on now, you've got to get out of here. Look, over there," he nodded to the back of the tent. "Lift the bottom up. You should be able to slip out underneath it and run out into the forest without being seen."

She dashed over to where he indicated and started pulling up the fabric. Panic flowed through her when she heard the sound of boot clad feet crunching on the gravely ground right outside of the tent.

"Go!" Spencer hissed fervently.

Jennifer lugged the rest of the heavy fabric up and looked back one last time at her friend. She quickly whispered, "Goodbye," and disappeared out into the night.

The wonderful woman's escape was perfectly timed. For as the last vestiges of her blue silk dress vanished from sight Charles flung the flap open and took in the pile of ropes that lay abandoned on the floor.

* * *

**Coming up on our next installment:**

**Derek finally gets home and has to come to terms with the destruction that was left in Charles's wake.**

**Spencer deals with the aftermath of JJ escaping.  
**


	5. Heartbreak

**Hi Friends!  
**

**Well, sad news in my family once again...I lost my grandpa yesterday. It was very sudden and unexpected but he lived till the ripe old age of 91. I was blessed to have so many years to enjoy with him. Well, needless to say, I needed something to take all the sorrow off my mind for a little while...so I focused my energy on writing.**

**This chapter is mainly a flashback (in italics) for Spencer but it was necessary in bringing my timelines together. By the end, both Derek and Spencer are on the same day of the week.**

**Please forgive my mistakes, they truly are unintentional.**

**Thank you for all your reviews and comments.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Spencer sat with his shoulders slumped and his head down on the top of a large chocolate stallion. His wrists were bound in front of him and the rope was attached to the pommel of the saddle. He was doing his best to block out the arms that were wrapped around his waist, holding him steady as they rode over the rough terrain on their way to Georgia.

The young king had barely registered any of the ride. His mind had completely shut down from the news he had overheard two nights ago and he had been unable to process anything since then. The only thing that he had been able to do was relive the moment that his world had shattered over and over again.

* * *

_King Charles had been furious when he realized that Jennifer had escaped his clutches. Even though his misappropriated slave had nothing to do with the girl's getaway he took his anger out on the boy. Spencer couldn't count how many punches, slaps, and kicks he endured before the monarch got tired._

_After the king had released all of his aggression on the slave he released him from his bonds and pulled him to his feet. Spencer fell down immediately due to the injured state of his left foot._

"_Stand up, you weakling," the man snarled. "Since you helped the young lady escape you're now going to take her place."_

_Spencer wavered as he struggled to stay upright. He didn't respond to the man but flashed him a confused look at his comment._

"_Honestly, I don't know why we didn't think of it earlier," the king stated, grabbing the slave by the scruff of his neck. "You know all the hiding spots in the castle, don't you? What slave doesn't? No, we should have done this from the beginning. Come on, you're going to lead us through every single hallway, alcove, and room. If you dare to leave just one stone unturned than I'll make this last beating look like a lover's sensual spanking."_

_The co-king silently nodded and allowed his hands to be bound in front of him. The king used an extra length of rope as a crude leash which he fasted to the boy's wrists._

_It took them hours to scour the castle. The Georgians were incredulous as to how many hidden hideouts were concealed by moving bookcases, monstrous tapestries, wooden floorboards, and façades of fake stone. Spencer did his best to lead the troop of men to all of the spaces he knew without a doubt would be unoccupied and tried to avoid the one he was sure his friends were all utilizing._

_Once the exhausted group had searched the final spot, the secret passage that led into the co-king's bedroom, Charles turned to the slave and grabbed him by his disheveled, "Is this the last one, boy?"_

"_Y-yes, Sire."_

"_You're not lying to me, are you boy?"_

"_N-n-no. I swear this is the last one that I know about," Spencer stammered._

"_So you're saying there could be more?"_

"_I-I don't know."_

"_Raphael, grab some of the clothes from the changing room. See if they can pick up the coward's scent and weasel him out."_

"_Of course, sire."_

_Spencer gulped down his panic, wondering what King Charles would do when the dogs lead Raphael back to him._

"_Let me know what if you find anything. I'm going to bed," he said gruffly before tramping out of the room and back to his tent, pulling Spencer along behind him._

_When they had gotten back to the king's quarters, Charles dropped the rope and told Spencer to lay down on the bed. The boy looked between the man and the bed a few times, wishing he could wrap his arms around his body to protect himself._

"_What are you waiting for boy? Move."_

_The youth scurried over to the massive bed and sat down on the edge. Charles went and took care of nature before turning around and looking at his newest slave._

_Perturbed that the young man had not completely followed orders he strode over to the slave and stood in front of him. Spencer kept his gaze concentrated on his bound wrists, studying the rough twine holding them together, while he took shuddering breaths in anticipation of what was going to happen next._

_Charles brought his hand up and grazed his thumb over the boy he knew as Reid's angular cheekbones, pressing deeply on some of the bruises that had formed on the translucent skin. The young man whimpered as his tender flesh was manipulated which triggered the king's groin to start stirring._

_He continued his caressing of his prisoner, tracing a line down the boy's swanlike neck. His finger got about halfway down when it hit the metal collar. Charles pushed the fabric of Reid's shirt away, exposing the supple skin encapsulated by the band. "Such an expensive collar for a mere slave," the sovereign commented as he fingered the jewels embedded in it. "Who was your master?"_

"_I-I've had m-m-many masters, Sire," Spencer stuttered nervously._

"_Don't be smart with me, boy. Who fixed this magnificent piece of work around your neck?"_

"_K-king William demanded that I wear it," he answered honestly._

"_Ha! I don't doubt that he did, but I know a miser when I see one and William would have never condoned such valuable gems being wasted on a slave. So I'll ask you again, who gave you the jewels?"_

_Spencer's mind was whirling a mile a minute as he tried to come up with an acceptable answer. He didn't want to mention Derek at all, so he went with his next best choice. "It was the queen mother, Sire. I was her personal slave."_

"_Even after King Derek foolishly abolished all slavery throughout his lands?" he ask shrewdly._

_The co-king was taken by surprise at the man's knowledge of Derek's decree but he continued on with his lie nonetheless, "Y-yes. She…she demanded that she be allowed to keep me. I-I was the exception to the rule."_

_Out of nowhere the Georgian king pushed Reid back onto the bed, "I can't say that I blame her. Well, don't worry now boy, you've got a new master…and I know just how to use you."_

_Spencer tried to stifle a sob but it broke free anyways. He had thought this part of his life had been left behind. Memories of that horrid night down in the dungeons with that evil man Foyet taunted his brain. He had believed that once Derek had been crowned king of the realm he would never have to deal with being someone's slave and plaything ever again._

_Charles walked around the bed, eyeballing the heaving chest of the young man prone on the fluffy duvet. He went to the other side and crawled on the mattress above the boy's head. He reached down and grabbed the rope leash that was still attached to his slave's wrists. He pulled the young man's arms above his head and attached the twine to the bedframe, rendering his victim helpless._

_He stalked back around climbed up onto the bed, straddling the youth's waist. He removed a dagger from his belt and sliced the white shift he was wearing away from his body. A thrill of delight coursed through his veins at the sight of the milky white chest that was swirled with black and blue marks._

_After marveling at the exquisiteness that was beneath him, he took his hands and stroked the tender skin. His meaty paws took their time and explored every crevasse only stopping when they landed on a short necklace poking out from underneath the silver collar._

"_What's this?"_

_Spencer, whose eyes had been clenched shut the whole time, opened them wide when he felt the pull on his neck. He remained silent, his heartrate speeding up at the thought of losing his only link to Derek._

_Charles pulled the chain out from its hiding spot, revealing the key that the necklace had been woven through._

"_Is this the key to your collar?"_

_The co-king stayed mute on the subject and waited to see where the monarch's mind was headed._

"_I can't believe they were stupid enough to give you the key to your own freedom! But what I really don't understand is why you haven't used it yet. Never mind, I'll fix this faux pas." The king gripped the key tightly in his fist and went to yank it from around Spencer's neck when the youth finally spoke up._

"_N-n-no! It is the key to m-my collar but-but I can't use it."  
_

_Charles stopped, his critical eyes narrowing suspiciously._

_Spencer licked his lips and swallowed, "K-king William thought it was funny, a form of torture for me, to make me wear the key to a collar I could never remove."_

_Charles furrowed his brow, "Explain."_

"_King William had the collar fused shut with molten metal. It can never come off. The key is useless. He said that he wanted me to wear it so that I was always reminded of my station and my inability to ever rise above it."_

_The man let out a loud boisterous laugh at the justification, "It's a wonder I wasn't better friends with that man. We would have gotten along so well." He dropped the key back onto the boy's chest, "Keep it. I insist. I might have to look into doing something like this with my other slaves…"_

_Charles missed the relief that passed over Spencer's face when he allowed the key to remain around the co-king's neck. Instead, he turned his gaze on the gaunt body's waist and the small trail of hair that peaked out above the waistband of his breaches._

_His stout hands reached down to undo the belt securing the pants firmly to the skinny waist. He had just released the latch when he was once again interrupted from his endeavor._

"_Father! Father, I have news," shouted Tobias as he flung the curtained door aside in order to enter the tent. The prince skidded to a halt the second he saw what was happening upon the bed tucked into the corner of the room. "Oh…um…I-I…"_

_Charles stayed seated on Spencer's lap and growled, "This better be good, son."_

"_I-I-um…i-i-it is…I mean…S-Sir-  
_

"_Spit it out already!"_

"_Sir Buford! He's here with his troops. He is seeking an immediate audience with you."_

_Tobias didn't need to say anything else. The king jumped off the bed immediately and said, "Well send him in at once."_

_His son bowed his way out of the tent and went to retrieve the man in question._

_Reid, forgotten on the bed, dropped his head back against the mattress in relief. His brain didn't want to process how close he had just come to being violated once again._

"_Stay put, we'll finish what we started later," Charles muttered, walking over to the dining table and taking a seat._

_Spencer closed his eyes at the statement and turned his head away. His hopes of getting out of this had been dashed with just a few simple words._

_Tobias came back into the tent just a few minutes later and announced, "Father, Sir Buford is here to see you."_

_Charles stood up and held out his hands in a welcoming gesture, "Carl! Come in and have a seat. Tobias, go fetch us some wine a refreshments."_

"_Yes, father," the young man said before heading out to complete his father's orders._

"_Now, Carl. I see that you are here in one piece, so you must have good news from the battlefield."_

_Carl, gave a slight grimace and said, "Unfortunately, sir. I bring good news and bad news."_

_The king's demeanor changed instantly; his eyes grew stormy and his mouth twisted from a smile to a sneer. "You had better hope the good news outweighs the bad."_

_Sir Buford met the king's fierce look with a carefree smile, "I assure you, Your Highness, that you will be very pleased by the end of our conversation."_

"_Then begin," the sovereign ordered with a wave of his hand._

_The knight leaned back in his chair and held out the empty tankard to Tobias, whom had just gotten back with the requested sustenance. He allowed the boy to fill his mug with plenty of wine and took a long swig of it before starting his tale, "Well, the bad news is that technically we did not win the battle. They may have had only about five hundred men or so but somehow King Derek devised a way to surrounded us and closed in on our forces from both sides. I lost quite a few men and had to call a retreat."_

_The king's countenance seemed heated at the man's nonchalance, "You mean to tell me that we vastly outnumbered them and you still lost the battle? Then what the hell is the good news?"_

_Spencer, still flat on his back wiggling his finger trying to get loose from the ties, felt a flood of happiness hearing that his husband's success on the battlefield. That meant he mustn't be too far behind the Georgian knight and his troops. He knew then that if he could just hold on a few more hours, maybe even half a day, his knight in shining armor would be here to save him._

"_Ha, now this you're going to like, You Grace. I may not have won the battle but I sure as hell won the war," Buford gloated._

_The monarch leaned in, interested in hearing the information that had his best knight so satisfied with himself. Over on the bed, Spencer was straining to hear the news too. The glee he had been feeling moments ago fleeting in the face of whatever this man was about to reveal._

"_Your Highness, I singlehandedly killed King Derek Reid. I am happy to announce that the Kingdom of Quantico is all yours," he said, raising his mug in triumph._

_With those words the captive king's heart burst into a thousand pieces, ripping his soul to shreds and carving out a hollow spot in his once fulfilled life._

* * *

Derek groaned as the wagon wheel struck a deep rut in the road and jostled his injuries. They finally packed up and left camp on Thursday night. They traveled almost the whole day on Friday, only stopping for meal breaks and to rest the horses. It was now mid-afternoon Saturday and the scenery around them was very familiar. He was pretty sure that when they crested the next rise the castle would be visible out in the distance.

He sat up straighter and tried to peer around the knight driving his cart, excited to finally get a glimpse of his home.

Abruptly, the wagon jerked to a halt. The king, confused as to what caused the sudden stop, called out, "What's going on? Why'd we stop?"

The driver turned around and said, "Sorry, Your Majesty. The horses at the top have stopped. I had no choice."

Derek grumbled a complaint under his breath and made to get out of the cart.

"Your Highness, please stay with me. We don't know when the journey will start up again."

The young king, never one to practice much patience, obstinately ignored the man's plea and hefted himself off the back of the makeshift carriage. He then grabbed the crutches that one of the squires had fastened out of large tree branches and trekked up the hill.

The stubborn young man could feel his body protesting his actions but his desire to get home overruled his senses. When he got to the top he saw Sir Hotchner on his horse consulting with Sir Kassmeyer. They were both utilizing spyglasses and looking off in the direction of the castle.

"Sir Hotchner, what is the meaning of this holdup?" Derek shouted as he limped toward their horses.

At once, the knight in question jumped off of his steed and made his way over to his sovereign. "Your Highness, you should not be up. Please, let me take you back to the cart and I'll fill you in there."

"Absolutely not. Now I can see that something is wrong just by the look in your eyes and I demand to know what it is!" Derek argued, undeterred by the knight's good reason.

Aaron's shoulders slumped in defeat, knowing that he wouldn't be able to convince the headstrong youth into listening to them. "It's the castle, Sire."

"What about it?" he asked cautiously.

"It looks to be invaded," Sir Hotchner explained grimly.

Derek's face paled, "I-I need to see for myself."

Aaron put his hand up to ward the king from moving around him, "I don't suggest that right now, Your Grace. It's better if you wait here and let me take some men down to assess the situation better."

Derek, suspicious at the knight's suggestion, ignored the man, "Give me your spyglass at once, Sir Hotchner. I want to see this invasion for myself."

The knight nodded his head in defeat and watched as the king hobbled up higher on the hill. When Derek found a spot that he was satisfied with he held out his hand. Aaron gently settled the delicate instrument into the monarch's grip.

The king dropped one of his crutches and brought the glass up to his eye. He peered through the tool, looking down into the valley. The first thing he spotted was the portcullis and how it pulled up with a multitude of enemy troops scattered about it. He then ran the lens up to the ramparts and saw more enemies still.

He wouldn't admit it out loud in front of his troops but his concern for his lover and family was tearing him apart at this point. Were they even alive? What type of condition were they in?

The king was just about finished with his inspection when a tall metal spike that was stationed on parapets the just above the castle entrance caught his eye. There, up for the whole world to see and for the crows to feast upon, was his dear mother's head, mouth gaping open in the afternoon sun.

Derek didn't even register dropping the spyglass as he dropped to his knees and let out a wail of anguish.


	6. You Promised

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* * *

It took fifteen minutes for Derek to come out of his shocked stupor. During that time Sir Hotchner watched as he went from being inconsolably distraught to extremely irate. The knight wanted to go put a hand on his friend's shoulder but he knew that any gesture he made would not be welcomed right now. So he let the young king be and waited out the emotional torrent.

Derek was having a hard time processing his emotions. He wanted badly to crawl back into the wagon and cry his eyes out in mourning over his mother's death. But on the other hand he had an intense desire to drop everything, commandeer the nearest horse and go galloping off to the castle to enact his revenge.

He was about to do just that when the image of brown eyes sparkling with mirth and milky white skin fluttered through his memory.

Spencer!

He grabbed the spyglass that he had flung down in anguish earlier and peered through it once again. He skimmed the ramparts once again as he tried to steel himself for the possibility of his dear lover's head on skewer much like his mother's.

He felt guilty at the relief that coursed through him when he found the parapets empty of a second spike. He was still deeply saddened and angry about his mother but the possibility that Spencer was still alive allayed some of that pain.

The king dropped the hand clutching the spyglass to his side and wiped his face with the other. He took a deep breath and turned toward his loyal knights. "What are we waiting for?"

Sir Hotchner observed the young man's face as it transitioned from that of a grieving son to the stoic face of a resilient monarch. He had to give the boy credit for being able to push his emotions down at a time like this. "Your Highness, the plan at the moment is to keep everyone back and out of sight of the watchmen. As of right now it doesn't look like we have been spotted and I'd like to keep it that way."

"What? Why? We need to get down there and take back what is ours!" he exclaimed incredulously. His troubled mind couldn't process why Sir Hotchner would want to bide his time when lives – Aaron's own loved ones included – could be in mortal danger. "Our family and friends are counting on us! We can't leave them down there another second with those trespassers!"

"Believe me, Your Highness, I understand your sense of urgency…but if we go storming the castle right now we will likely be defeated. We must keep our heads about us and observe our enemies. That way when we do attack we will come out victorious," the middle-aged man said wisely.

Derek hung his head. "…I know you're right…it's just that I can't stop picturing what else may be happening in there as we sit around cooling our heels. What if by the end of the day another h-hea…someone else joins my m-m-moth…someone else is up on a spike? How can we sit here and put the lives of all those innocent people in jeopardy like that?" the king asked.

Unable to maintain his distance any longer, Sir Hotchner reached out a sturdy hand and placed it on the youngster's shoulder and squeezed it firmly. "Because it's our duty. We would do more harm than good if we go rushing down there. What would happen to all of those innocent people if we are defeated and their king is –you are – killed? Then they would forever be at the mercy of a tyrant who is more interested in power than the well-being of his people – our people."

Derek brought up his own hand clasped Sir Hotchner's, clutching it back tightly in a nonverbal gesture of appreciation. He looked up toward the castle and answered the knight's question, "The effect on their lives would be cataclysmic. This country would be ravaged by Charles's armies and left to pick up the pieces while trying to abide by that fanatical man's rules. Alright…you win. What's the plan?"

* * *

Spencer didn't come out of his depressed daze until the body that had been holding him steady on the horse all day dismounted. Sufficiently jostled awake, the young king blinked his eyes and looked at his surroundings.

The invading army had chosen to set up camp in a secluded green valley on the bank of a wandering stream. The expansive caravan spread out far and wide throughout the land and started to pitch their tents and build fires. Close to the captive king there were foot soldiers getting to work on setting up King Charles's massive shelter. The echoes of grunts and groans coming from the belabored men infiltrated Spencer's ears and made him thankful that he wasn't being forced to help.

"My father doesn't know how to travel lightly."

Surprised by the unexpected comment, the young man tilted his head down and saw the prince looking up at him. The genius gave Tobias a wry smile before he averted his eyes toward his bound hands. He wiggled his fingers back and forth, encouraging blood circulation in the numb flesh.

"I-I'm sorry about that. My father insisted that you stay restrained after…especially after that girl escaped. But honestly, I don't know where he thought you would go while we were riding," Tobias said with a hesitant laugh, his gaze steadied on the course rope that was chafing Spencer's wrists. "I-I can't undo them completely but I can release you from the horse. Would you like to get down? I could get you something to eat and take you into the bushes so you can relieve yourself?"

Spencer silently bristled at the thought of having to be escorted to the bathroom, even though he was used to it by now. He hadn't been allowed to do anything on his own since he had been taken from the castle. Either he was tied up or heavily guarded. He found it very strange that Charles was so possessive over someone – a slave especially – that he had barely even known for a week.

Putting aside his discomfort at the unavoidable intrusion of his privacy, the young king nodded his head to signal that he did indeed want to get down to take care of his bodily functions.

Tobias reached up and unknotted the end of the rope attached to the saddle's pommel. He then placed Spencer's right foot in the stirrup and helped him dismount from the horse. Unfortunately, the king's lanky body had too much momentum and it caused him to practically fall backwards off of the horse. He could feel his body plummeting downward but his descent was abruptly halted by the embrace of two strong arms.

"I got you," the prince exclaimed as he pulled the slave's lithe body up and assisted him in planting his feet firmly on the ground.

Spencer pushed the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes aside and said a meek, "Thank you, Your Highness."

"Eww, enough of that. My father is the king, not I. When he's not around just call me Tobias...," the monarch entreated.

The young king raised his eyebrow at the prince. The only people that were permitted to use Derek and his given names were their close friends and family. The fact that this young man was so quick to have a supposed slave call him by his Christian name was very telling.

Tobias, seeing the slave's wariness, followed up his request, "Please…it makes me feel a little more human to have someone out there that doesn't feel the need to address me properly. And I feel less like my father's son and more like my own person."

The genius decided to test his theory and quietly inquired, "Surely there is someone more deserving than I that deserves that honor. I'm but a spoil of war that your father confiscated from his enemy. I should be the last person you'd think to reach out to."

Tobias sighed heavily, "No one wants to be the friend of King Charles's greatest disappointment. I'm a leper that is to be given a wide berth by all. I…I probably shouldn't be telling you all of this." The prince grabbed Spencer's left forearm with his hand and started steering him toward the shrubs that were scattered along the bank of the stream. "Come on. There is much to do and my father will be expecting you once his tent is erect."

The brown-eyed captive remained silent and allowed himself to be led along by the sullen prince. He knew that he had pushed the other man too far but he really didn't care. He had his own demons to contend with right now – namely the haunting memories of his dearly departed Derek – and he wasn't interested in being this troubled young man's sounding board.

* * *

Tobias didn't say anything else as he led Spencer over to some bushes that were on the edge of camp. He didn't leave his captive completely alone but he did give the other boy some privacy. Once the co-king was done taking care of his business, the prince wordlessly tugged on the rope attached to his wrists and took him over to one of the flourishing fires.

When the two arrived the atmosphere around the heat source was lively and jovial. The soldiers were relaxing with drinks in their hands and plates full of food. One of the men had even gotten out a lute and was strumming an animated tune that had quite a few of the fighters tapping their feet along with the beat.

Spencer was surprised to see how quickly the mood shifted when Tobias walked up to the group. The music abruptly stopped and the boisterous conversations dulled to a low murmur. The young man watched as the prince shifted from foot to foot as all the men inspected him with a sharp eye as he sat down on a large log positioned near the fire. The second his butt was planted firmly on the rotting wood a chorus of excuses rose up into the air as the men quickly vacated the area.

The genius, who was still standing next to the prince, looked down at the other when the open space had completely cleared out.

"Don't look so surprised. I told you," Tobias said wryly, "no one wants to be associated with me. Why don't you have a seat while I go and fetch us something to eat?" He didn't wait for an answer as he got up and guided the slave over to a tree. He then took the length of rope he was still holding in his hands and wound it around the trunk a few times, tying it off when he felt the segment was short enough. "I'm sorry that I've got to take these precautions but if my father found you free to roam he'd have my head…Anyways, you should be close enough to the fire to feel some of its warmth. I won't be gone too long and when I get back I'll untie you and we can sit closer to the flames."

Spencer's discerning eyes watched as the prince walked off into the maze of carts, his shoulders slumped and his gait unsure. The young man was definitely uncomfortable in this environment, even though he was surrounded by his own people. The genius's wheels started turning at the thought that he may be able to use Tobias's excommunication to his advantage. Perhaps he could even talk the vulnerable boy into helping him escape. Then he could go home and…and…

And what?

There wasn't anything for him at home anymore.

The sovereign's legs collapsed underneath him as the bitter realization cut him down to his core. His mother was dead. Lord Rossi was dead.

Derek was dead.

He curled up into a ball and moaned out the anguish that had been sitting heavy on his heart for days. He cradled his head in the palms of his hands, the heels of which became damp while unfettered tears started flowing down his cheeks. Meanwhile, his mournful thoughts carried him deeper and deeper into his mind's abyss, forcing him to confront the emotions he had hidden away from his captors. The dam that had been holding everything back had finally broken causing him to sob so violently that he started choking on the air that his beloved could no longer breathe.

His soul felt so empty – so black – and no matter how much he searched it, even into its darkest recesses, he couldn't find one reason to fight against this hell that his life had become.

How was he supposed to keep on going – supposed to fight – when his reason for living was gone?

All throughout his life it seemed as though Fortune's Wheel had never turned in his favor. But then briefly, for a few shining years, Spencer's whole world had turned around. He was given everything he could have ever hoped for, a mother, friends, a father-figure, and a soulmate.

But now the wheel had turned back in the other direction and taken away everything faster than the blink of an eye, leaving his world devoid of any color and Spencer damaged beyond repair.

The forlorn lover tilted his head back and looked up. He knew that the universe was stretched out above him but he couldn't even see it through the dreary clouds that distorted the night sky.

"How could you leave me?" he implored his love, whom he was sure was looking down on him from somewhere far above. "I-I can't do this…live this life without you in it…God…I…I can't even breathe…"

He sniffled a bit and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his worn-out shirt. He suddenly found himself overwhelmed with anger and before he knew it his voice was crying out, "And you-you promised that you would come home!" A half sob mingled with a growl tore its way out of his throat. "You always keep your promises! Why was this the one you chose to break?"

"Who are you talking to?" Tobias's timid voice asked, cutting off Spencer's emotional tirade.

"…I-I…no one."

The prince handed his prisoner a chunk of bread and a bowl of stew. Then he sat down in the grass next to Spencer and ate a few bites of his own meal. He chewed slowly while his mind decided on the best way to get his father's newest victim to open up.

"Did you love him?"

Spencer, who was in the process of bringing a piece of bread up to his mouth, froze at the question.

"Did you love him?"

"H-him who?"

"The man that broke his promise."

"W-why do you think it's a m-man?"

"Because you said, 'You promised to come home.' I just figured that it's not normal for a woman to be wandering the roads alone during wartime…so I took a guess that it was a man."

Spencer looked away, amazed at the prince's sound reasoning.

"So?"

"So what?" the co-king asked, trying unsuccessfully to avoiding the question.

"Did you love him?"

Spencer looked back up into the sky and saw a little section where a patch of clouds had cleared away, allowing a few stars to shine through. "Y-yes, I loved him."

"What happened to him?"

"H-he was killed."

It was Tobias's turn to hang his head. "It was by my father's army…wasn't it?"

Tears welled in the captive's eyes at the reminder of his lover's demise. He knew that his voice wouldn't work if he tried to answer so he settled for nodding his head.

"I'm so sorry."

Spencer just shrugged. There was nothing that the prince's sorry could do for him or Derek and it didn't make him feel any better.

"I…God…I hate my father," the prince admitted after having witnessed enough of the other boy's heartbreak. "I swear, if there was anything that I could do…I would."

"Y-you could let me go," Spencer suggested with a small spark of hope glistening in his brown pools.

"I can't…"

"But you could…a-and if you hate him so much you could just come with me," Spencer pleaded, hoping to appeal to the boy's hatred of his father.

"It wouldn't work. He'd find us and then he'd punish me and kill you," Tobias said with a finality that the monarch couldn't ignore.

"…then just kill me now."

"What? N-no! I couldn't do that," Tobias stuttered.

"Please? If you leave me alive you are dooming me to whatever torture your father has planned. J-just take me out of this world and let me join the ones I love that are waiting for me on the other side. If you do, than we would both win this game your father seems so intent upon playing with our lives."

Tobias suddenly stood up, discarding his unfinished meal without a second thought, and uttered gravely, "My father always wins in the end." He then made his way over to the bindings that were keeping Spencer attached to the tree and unfastened them. "Come on, my father is probably looking for us as we speak…and we don't want to keep him waiting."

* * *

**Next time: Spencer finally reaches King Charles's castle and Derek finds out the fate of his lover.**


	7. Dead or Alive?

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* * *

Derek was a bundle of nerves as he sat in the camp waiting to hear about the outcome of their meticulously planned night frontal attack.

It had been decided two days ago that Sir Hotchner would lead the troops in under the cover of darkness and attack the front gates when the invading army's troops were at their weakest. Once they laid siege to the gates they were then going to infiltrate the courtyard, climb up the battlements and take out the men defending the ramparts. If all went well they were then supposed to sneak up on the sleeping soldiers in the barracks and take them out before they could even crack their eyes open.

A loud booming echo reverberated through the valley where the camp was erected. Derek, who was sitting in his makeshift litter at the top of the hill quickly grabbed the spyglass and searched through the dark night to see the source of the noise.

It took him a few minutes to adjust his eyes to the dim light but eventually he was able to train the instrument on the castle. He ran the spyglass back and forth over the brick and mortar until he found a gaping hole at the top of the tower where Spencer's science laboratory had been located. He saw licks of flames reaching out through the black sky as the fire inside destroyed all of his lover's hard work.

"Damn…," he muttered under his breath. "I'll just have to requisition the architects to design him a bigger and better laboratory when this is all said and done."

He lowered his instrument and grabbed the crude crutches that had been created out of a few large tree branches for him. He used them to hobble carefully down the hill and over to the community fire. There were only a few soldiers left in camp with him, some of them injured like himself, and they all looked just as sullen as he felt.

As he approached the fire the men that could stand up did and paid their respects to him. He waved off their attempts at formalities and hunkered himself down on a thick log that was stationed close to the flames.

Out of nowhere a bowl of stew was thrust into his hands. The king mumbled his thanks and even though his appetite was lacking he tucked into his meal.

He was halfway through the bowl when the pounding of hooved feet could be heard throughout the area. Derek set aside his meal and immediately snatched his crutches, using them to prop himself up into a standing positon. He turned toward the sound and was pleasantly surprised to find his good friend, Sir Hotchner, towering above him on his horse.

"Well?" he asked impatiently, though he did take in his friend's appearance in order to make sure he wasn't injured.

"It was a success," Hotchner answered solemnly.

A smile broke out on Derek's face, "Excellent! You, my friend, are amazing! And you and your men are going to go down in the history books as a force to be reckoned with. Now, let's get the cart hooked up so I can go home. How is Spencer? Did you find him? What about everyone else? Was there alot of damage to the castle? What did you do with all of Charles's men? We couldn't possibly fit them all in the dungeons…can we?"

Sir Hotchner, overwhelmed by all of the young king's questions, held up his hands in a placating gesture, "All in good time, Your Grace. I'll answer all of your questions once we get you home."

Derek nodded his acceptance and started hobbling toward his cart. He was almost there when he stopped, realizing that the knight had glossed over the most important question.

"Your Highness?" Aaron called down from his mount, curious as to why the monarch stopped.

The king looked up to his friend, realizing there was only one reason why Sir Hotchner wouldn't tell him about his beloved's fate. "Spencer's dead, isn't he."

The slight flinch of the knight's face told Derek all he needed to know. The young man's resolve crumbled as he fell to his knees and started sobbing. What good was a kingdom when he had no one to share it with?

Sir Hotchner jumped off his horse and crouched on the ground next to his sovereign. He laid a gentle hand on Derek's shaking shoulder and squeezed it tightly, "Your Grace…Derek…we haven't found him thus far. We…we don't know if he's dead or alive. I didn't want to tell you yet because I was hoping that he and the others would have been located by the time we got back to the castle. Don't start thinking the worst until we have proof."

"You…you don't know if he's alive?"

"No, I'm sorry," Hotchner said, slightly ashamed at his lack of knowledge. "But we will find out soon."

Derek wiped his face and pushed his emotions down, "Get me down there. I need to know what happened it him."

"At once, Your Highness."

* * *

A few days later Spencer's journey to King Charles's castle was almost at an end. It was midafternoon when they entered the town and a multitude of villagers were out lining the streets to celebrate their king's return.

Spencer, from his perch on Tobias's horse, observed the townsfolk in disbelief. The men, women, and children were extremely downtrodden and sullen. They all appeared dirty and grubby, as if they had no money with which to take care of themselves. Their cheers and accolades were shouted with little to no emotion. The young king reasoned that most of them were probably only out there greeting their king out of fear and not happiness.

"They don't look that happy to see us," Tobias commented from his position behind Spencer. The two had been together for the whole journey and unsurprisingly they had grown closer, commiserating with one another over their lots in life.

The young king was pleased to discover that he didn't mind the prince's presence. He really needed an ally to lean on right now and Tobias seemed like the perfect companion. And while he still resented the fact that his new acquaintance didn't have the strength of character to help him out by setting him free or ending his misery, Spencer wasn't going to reject the offered friendship when he needed it the most.

"I was just thinking that," Spencer agreed. "Tobias, if your father is so wealthy than why do his people look so poor? Doesn't he share his wealth with his citizens?"

The prince burst out in laughter, shocking a few of the peasants that were pretending to celebrating at his feet. "My father share? Surely you jest. My father would sooner give one of his dogs a gilt collar than he would a copper coin to a worker. No, no, no…the king has no concept of generosity, only greed. He believes that denying his people money will force them to work harder to earn it."

"Doesn't he realize that downtrodden people will rebel quicker than happy people? He needs to nurture their growth and aid them in the hard times. A kingdom with content citizens is richer than any other," Spencer said wisely.

"When you put it that way, I'm pretty sure Georgia must be penniless because there is not a single villager out there that would vouch for being satisfied with their living conditions. Of course, I'm not including the vile courtiers when I say that…they're just as bad as my father," Tobias informed his new friend bitterly.

Spencer didn't respond to the prince's comment, his mind focused on the small child that he saw on the route up ahead. The little boy couldn't have been older than five or six years old. He had shaggy black hair and his clothes were tattered rags hanging limply from his emaciated body. The boy was standing right on the edge of the road with his big eyes turned up to look at all the passing knights. The king's horse was soon to cross his path and he had stretched out his palm into the sky in order to beg for a small token from his sovereign.

The captive king watched with dismay as Charles's horse walked right past the boy and instead of giving the poor kid some money or a crust of bread the king aimed a swift kick right to his face. The little boy crumpled down to the ground and howled in pain at the monarch's cruel treatment. A woman, who must have been his mother, rushed to his side and pulled him back away from the road, trying to comfort him after his assault.

Spencer couldn't help but stare as their horse made its way past the child and his mother. He longed to jump off the horse and apologize for Charles's behavior but it wasn't his place to make amends for his captor's deeds. This was just another example of the treatment he was sure to endure at the hands of King Charles.

The youth shook his head and tried to dispel the image of cruelty that he had just witnessed and instead focused his mind on the castle that was looming in the distance. It was a hulking structure that took up the skyline from their position down in the village. It was made out of gray mortar and brick and rose higher into the sky than any structure Spencer had ever seen. It must have taken years upon years to construct by an innumerable amount of workers.

There were four towers; each one constructed in one of the directional corners of the castle. They reached high up into the air where their roofs seemed to scratch the blue sky with their pointed spires. The central building was composed of multiple floors with expansive balconies stretching out from large arching windows that led indoors.

As they got closer and closer to the fortress the drawbridge and portcullis started to materialize. The wooden barrier was down and laid across the deep gulch that was cut into the ground surrounding the castle. The iron bars were pulled up and there were guards standing before them in order to make sure the riffraff didn't sneak into the king's lair. The young monarch was able to see the bottom spikes of the gate sticking out from above their heads, almost like the teeth of an alligator gaping down from the top of its jaw.

A shudder racked Spencer's body as feelings of foreboding clouded his mind. What was going to happen to him in this godforsaken place? Would he ever leave this land and get back home where he belonged? Did he even want to go back home when he knew there was nothing left for him there?

Those questions and more swirled through is head as Tobias's horse took them through the gates and into the courtyard of the castle. The atmosphere of the open aired quad was exactly the same as the one throughout the town, subdued and dreary. There were courtiers milling about all over the place but their welcome was lackluster. Reid could tell that the wealthy citizens didn't want to be there any more than he did and that they were probably worried about displeasing their cantankerous sovereign with their absence.

The forearms containing his body tightened as the horse beneath him came to a stop in front of the stables. Tobias dropped the reigns and placed his hands on top of Spencer's bound ones. He squeezed his friend's willowy fingers firmly and pressed his arms into Spencer's sides. The gesture reminded the monarch of Derek and how they used to go riding on Thunderhead, his husband holding him securely in his strong arms as they galloped through the countryside.

"What happens to me now?" Spencer whispered quietly to Tobias as the two of them remained seated on the horse.

The prince sighed at the question and stopped embracing the lithe youth in front of him. He continued to avoid answering his friend and chose to dismount from the steed instead. Once he was down on the ground he looked up at his friend and said in dismay, "Now I take you to my father and…and he'll…he'll make use of you." Tobias had a hard time finishing his sentence due to the guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders because he knew the fate that was in store for Spencer.

The captive king didn't respond to his friend's statement, knowing deep inside what the words entailed. Instead he hung his head in defeat and waited patiently for Tobias to untie his hands from the pommel. Once the rope was no longer fastened to the saddle, Spencer pushed up in the stirrups and brought his right leg up and around, descending from the horse and into Tobias's waiting arms.

The prince then grabbed the rope lead coming off of Spencer's wrists and used it to guide the slave to the king. The two boys slowly circumvented the bustling activities of the soldiers and servants that were running all around the castle's perimeter. Unfortunately, no matter how slow their steps were they eventually made it to the king's parked carriage.

The pair cautiously approached the menacing monarch, who was standing around in front of his horses discussing something with his brother. Charles didn't notice their existence until they were about five feet away from him. When he did finally see them he stopped talking and turned his intimidating glare in their direction. Tobias immediately bowed down to his father and addressed him properly while Spencer fell to his knees and pressed his forehead into the dirt, like he had been forced to multiple times over the past week.

The king grunted at his son, a nonverbal way of telling Tobias that he could rise.

The apprehensive prince stood erect and stated, "I trust you had a good trip, Your Highness."

Charles, never one for small talk, didn't respond to his son's attempt at pleasantries and ordered gruffly, "Get him up off the ground. He's filthy enough as it is."

Tobias pulled on the leash attached to Spencer's hands and Reid pushed himself upright. He continued to angle his chin down and kept his eyes glued on a pebble that was lodged in the soil. He never looked up but he could sense Charles's eyes were inspecting his body with his penetrative stare. Spencer shifted on his fawnlike legs, anxiously awaiting the result of this intense examination.

Soon there was a pair of soft leather shoes positioned on the ground where the pebble laid.  
He felt a strong grip grab his chin and tip his head up, forcing him to meet the king's gaze. Charles turned Spencer's head from side to side and traced his jawline with his thumb. Without looking at his son the monarch instructed, "Take him upstairs and give him to my grooms. He is to have the full treatment and new clothes more becoming of his new station. He is to be ready and waiting for me by dinner."

"Yes, father," Tobias said obediently.

The king released Spencer from his grasp and walked away without another word.

* * *

Derek thought he was going to be sick when he saw the floor of the throne room. There was a large puddle of blood pooled at the bottom of the throne and then a long smear of it trailing across the ground.

He looked over to Sir Hotchner, "This must have been where my mother…where my mother was killed."

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," Hotchner said compassionately.

The king closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind away from his mother's death.

"Were there any other bodies?" Derek finally asked the knight after he composed himself.

"What?"

"Did your men find any other bodies in here? My mother wouldn't have been alone. Lord Rossi would have been with her."

"We didn't find anyone else in here, Your Grace."

"Then where is he? He wouldn't have left her side if he could have helped it," Derek pondered, looking around the room for clues.

"Perhaps he went into hiding with King Spencer?" Hotchner ventured.

"I doubt it…" Derek trailed off as he stepped behind the throne and noticed a trail of red droplets leading to the tapestry on the wall behind it. "Look, there's blood! It's leading toward the wall."

Both men ran over to the arras and studied the floor.

"You're right."

The king looked over to his friend and pulled aside the wall-hanging, fully revealing the stone wall. Derek ran his hand over the gray rocks and smiled when he felt the recess in the seam that he was looking for. He curled his fingers into the hidden nook and pulled with all his might, causing the concealed door to swing open. "This passage comes out upstairs, right across from my bedroom. There's a secret room at the end of the hallway that was constructed years ago when my ancestors were at war. I bet Spencer's in there with everybody else. Come on! I bet they don't even know that the castle is in our hands once again. Let's go give them the good news," Derek gushed, excited at the prospect of seeing his lover safe and sound.

Sir Hotchner stepped forth and unsheathed his sword as he called for a torch. His squire quickly produced the required light source, placing it into the knight's free hand. "I hope you're right, Your Grace. But we mustn't go rushing up there. We have no idea if there are any enemies lying in wait. I'll go first and clear the way. Follow behind me."

The young monarch longed to charge up the stairs but, as always, he heeded his friend's words.

Moments later the two men were slowly creeping up the shadowy stairs, completely on guard and hyper-vigilant the whole way to the top.

When they reached the end of the passage, Sir Hotchner pressed his ear to the wall and listened for any signs of the enemy.

"I thought your men cleared the castle?" Derek whispered impatiently.

The knight pulled back from the concealed door and looked at the king's face, which was covered in flickering shadows due to the light of the torch. "They did, but like I said before we can't be certain that everyone was caught in the first pass through the castle. We can't afford to let our guard down and be caught unaware," he explained, dropping the king's formal title since they were all alone.

"Well, did you hear anything?"

"No. I think it's clear."

"Then let's go!" Derek ordered, his words sounding high-strung in anticipation.

Aaron didn't wait to be told twice and pulled the handle on the inside of the door toward him, exposing the silent hallway. Derek, allowing his emotions to get the best of him, pushed past his friend and into the open. He looked both ways, happy to see that there wasn't any sign of the enemy, and ran toward the hidden room at the end of the hall.

Once he got to the suit of armor that blocked the access to the room he pulled down its shiny left arm and watched in satisfaction as it opened.

A shriek immediately greeted Derek upon his entrance into the room.

"Oh my God! You're alive!" squealed the shrill voice of one of Derek's best friends, Lady Penelope Garcia.

A large smile broke out on the king's face as a blur of royal purple satin skirts ran straight at him and enveloped him in a crushing hug. "I-I can't believe that it's you! We heard that you were dead!"

Derek winced when his friend's embraced irritated his injury but instead of stopping her hug he squeezed her back affectionately. "I'm alright sweetness. I'm alright…I just got cut a little bit, but nothing too serious."

She pulled back from the hug with tears streaming down her face. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you!"

"And I, you." He smiled at her and planted a small kiss on her forehead. He then looked back up and let his eyes search the crowd for his beloved. "Is Spencer in here with you? Or how about Lord Rossi?"

The room that had been chattering in excitement upon the king's appearance suddenly became hushed. Penelope let out a little yelp and covered her mouth with her hand.

The king turned toward her, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I-I…um…"

"Lady Penelope, if you know anything about the king's whereabouts or Lord Rossi's please let us know," Sir Hotchner requested from his spot near the door.

"Lord Rossi is over here," announced a strong feminine voice from behind a wall of people toward the back of the room. The bodies blocking the speaker parted to reveal a disheveled JJ in a tattered blue gown kneeling beside a cot. On the makeshift bed was the haggard pale body belonging to Lord Rossi. His eyes were closed and his face was screwed up in pain. Derek could tell that his breathing was labored and the man's shoulder was wrapped up in white bandages tinged with blood.

"What happened?" Derek demanded as he marched over toward his injured mentor.

"We don't know," JJ said. "We were hidden in here when the Georgian army raided the castle. Your mother and Lord Rossi opted to stay in the throne room to meet the opposition head on. We're not sure what happened but at some point they ran him through. We found him abandoned on the floor after dark when we were out scouting the damages and scrounging for food. Luckily, the soldiers that were on watch were preoccupied with something and Will and I were able to drag him back here. We've been taking care of him ever since. He hasn't fully woken up yet but sometimes he opens his eyes and mutters incoherently."

"Will he-will he survive?"

JJ nodded her head, "I think so…but I really don't know…"

Derek stooped down next to the cot and captured the old man's hand in his. He squeezed the gnarled appendage then brought it up to rub it against his cheek. "Hang on old man. You can beat this…it's what mom would have wanted you to do."

After a brief moment of silence, the distraught king twisted his head and asked JJ, "Do you know where Spencer is?"

A look of sadness painted her porcelain features as tears pooled in her sapphire orbs, "I'm so sorry, Derek...but King Charles took Spencer with him…and it's all my fault.

* * *

**Surprise! Rossi is alive!  
**

**I just didn't have the heart to actually kill both Diana and Rossi. Spencer needs at least one parental figure to be alive and Rossi needs to avenge Diana's death!**


	8. Overwhelming Emotions

**Hi Friends!**

**For those of you still sticking with my story I wanted to say thank you! I know the updates are slower than you (and I) would like but rest assured that I won't abandon the story.**

**Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following!**

**Please forgive/ignore any mistakes...they happen no matter how much I read through the story before publishing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"What do you mean it was all your fault?" he asked, using one of his crutches to help him stand up from his crouched position next to Lord Rossi.

"Well – I-I –"

"Jennifer was captured by Charles's men one night when we were out trying to replenish our food supply, Your Grace," Will spoke up from behind her. He then walked up to her and laid his chin on her shoulder while wrapping his hands around her waist, squeezing tightly in a show of moral support.

"You were caught too? How did you escape?" Derek asked, both concern and confusion lacing his voice.

"Well…I was in the kitchen gathering scraps of food when some of Charles's men took me by surprise. They grabbed me and carried me all the way back to their campsite, never stopping once until we reached King Charles's tent. They took me inside and…and there was King Spencer. He-he was sitting on the ground in front of the king's bed. They had tied his hands to the footboard and it looked like he had been beaten," she explained, her voice catching when she described Spencer's state.

"Beaten?" Derek growled.

She nodded nervously and her strong exterior started to crack as a few tears welled up at the memory she was being forced to relive. "Y-yes, Your Grace. His face was bruised, he had a split lip, and his foot – his foot was black-and-blue…perhaps broken."

"You don't know?"

She shook her head.

Derek brought one hand up and wiped it over his face in an effort to regain some composure after thinking about his lover being battered and bruised.

The king was beginning to feel unsteady on his feet and the ache emanating from the wound on his side wasn't helping. His overwhelming emotions were combining with his fatigue, threatening to pull him down right where he stood.

"Your Highness, are you feeling alright?" Sir Hotchner asked, noticing how the king seemed to be precariously swaying on his crutches.

"Yes, thank you. I'll be fine." Derek tightened his arms on the wooden supports and looked back over to Lady Jennifer, "What happened after you were taken to Charles?"

Jennifer was reluctant to carry on after seeing Derek's reaction to Spencer's state but knew holding back information would only hinder her friend's rescue. "They started to question me but I refused to answer." She closed her eyes, causing a few tears to drop down her rosy cheeks, "He – he started to hit King Spencer every time I denied him information."

The young man narrowed his eyes at the news and made a hand gesture for her to continue.

"I-I couldn't keep watching him hurt Spence – uh King Spencer – so I started talking."

"What did he want to know?"

"The first thing he asked me was for our names," JJ explained.

"Wait…what? He didn't know who Spencer was?"

"No, Your Highness. He had no idea that he was hold the king captive. Charles thinks that King Spencer is a slave. He's taking him back to Georgia and turning him into one of his household slaves."

"You're serious? Charles has no idea who Spencer really is?" Derek asked in disbelief.

"No, Your Grace. In fact, he was going make me take him throughout the castle and show him all our hiding spots to help aid him in his search for Spencer," she explained.

Derek allowed his lips to turn upwards. "Well at least one thing is going our way. Hopefully Spencer will be able to keep up his ruse as a slave…" The brief smile that had painted his face slowly faded as his mind took him down a darker path, "…because if Charles knew who he really was…"

"But, Your Grace…Charles doesn't plan on using Spence as one would a traditional slave…he-he's going to make him…service him in…lewd and-"

"Enough, I don't need you to paint a picture. And I can't think about that right now…what matters is that he is alive and we have a chance to bring him home. He'll hold out against whatever that tyrant throws at him…I know he will," Derek vowed, pushing the thoughts of his lover being forced into lecherous man's bed deep down in his mind.

The men and women in the room mirrored the king's emotions, each of them imagining what the menacing monarch was planning to do to their sweet innocent king.

Derek forced a cough to break the brooding silence, forcing everyone's minds back to the present. "You have yet to get to the part where you escaped."

Jennifer took a big gulp of air, steeling herself for Derek's imminent reaction to her tale. "Charles and his man Rapheal – "

"That's his brother," Derek cut in.

Jennifer nodded, "Charles and his brother decided to go fetch everyone and assemble a search party. They were going to take me with them and we were going to search the castle like I mentioned earlier. The two of them left us alone after they tied me to the bed next to His Highness. Once they were gone I helped Spencer get his gag out and we were able to talk. He told me about how he got captured…he-uh-he was trying to get the Dowager Queen to go into hiding when Charles and his men came in. He was kneeling in front of your mother and she started to address him as a slave so King Charles wouldn't find out who he was. He watched as Raphael killed the Dowager Queen and he told me that it was Charles, himself, that stabbed Lord Rossi…"

"And when they were done they must have taken Spencer with them," Derek concluded.

She nodded and then looked up, "I-I didn't get a chance to tell him that Lord Rossi was still alive...because the-the rope around my wrist came loose and I was able to get free. I started to undo his bindings b-but Spe-Spence - he stopped me. He said there wasn't enough time and that I had to leave. I argued with him but he ordered me to abandon him…a-a-and he told me that it was my job to tell you what had happened to him. He said he wanted me to tell you that he loves you and he won't give up on you. A-after that I snuck under the bottom of the tent and made my way back here."

The king stood silent as his mind took the new information and processed it. Suddenly a swirl of mixed emotions were fighting for dominance in his brain – fear, worry, pride, anger, hopelessness, and anguish. His beleaguered mind processed them all before it settled on the one that felt right for the moment, anger.

The change in Derek's countenance was noticeable to everyone as he clenched his fists tighter against the wooden crutches and squeezed his eyes into small slits. Sir Hotchner could tell that the news that Jennifer had just delivered had touched a nerve with his young sovereign and prepared himself for the worst.

"You mean to tell me that you had an opportunity to free him and yet you chose to save yourself?" Derek roared irrationally.

Jennifer cringed back into Will's body as if to hide within the depths of his arms. "H-he told me to leave him, Y-your Highness. Spence-"

"Don't you dare call him by his given name! That is a right reserved for friends; a title that you no longer possess. You – you selfish -"

Even though he had been prepared for this type of reaction, Sir Hotchner still found himself appalled at the king's overemotional state. He knew that his friend was letting his worries about his lover get in the way of rational thinking. So, in the hopes of stop Derek from saying something worse – something that he could never take back – he put his hand on the king's shoulder and stopped him from finishing his sentence, "Your Highness, let's go to your chambers and discuss this new information in a reasonable manner."

Derek wrenched his shoulder out from Hotchner's grip and turned toward his friend, "I am being reasonable!"

"Of course you are, Your Grace. But perhaps we should be discussing this sensitive subject in private. Let me send for Sir Kassmeyer and the three of us can confer on where to go from here. Besides, you need to eat and rest your body before you upset your wounds or cause irreparable damage to your side," Hotchner explained sagely.

The king glanced at the floor before looking back up at his friend with eyes that exuded sorrow and fear. "You are right, as always. What would I do without you my friend, especially now?" Derek asked, making sure to emphasize the word "friend." Ignoring the stricken look upon Jennifer's face, the king turned heel on the audience of courtiers that were watching the show and left the room.

Aaron turned to the blue-eyed girl and said softly, "Give him some time. He's letting his fear do all the talking. I'm sure he will be more rational after he's had a few minutes to come to terms with what has happened."

Jennifer said nothing but Will nodded his head behind her, "I'm sure you're right. He's going through some of the worst days in his life. It can't be easy. Go on, he needs you. I'll take care of things here." Will squeezed his lady lover again after his last sentence, silently telling her that things would be okay.

Hotchner nodded and took his leave of the courtiers, trailing after the distraught young monarch.

* * *

Spencer could tell that Tobias was reluctant to take him to his father's groomsmen. While the prince hadn't voiced his disapproval as to what was going to happen to his newest friend it was obvious in his body language. For, the other young man had withdrawn into himself and had taken to walking at a snail's pace throughout the foreboding castle.

When they finally reached their journey's end on the second floor of the east wing the scraggly youth started unwinding the rope around Spencer's wrists. The captive king watched as the other's shaking hands gently turned his end of the twine around and around in circles, unraveling Spencer's bonds. It seemed as if time had slowed down and the world was lingering on this moment.

As the last of the rope slid away revealing the co-king's raw wrists the two young men looked at each other. Spencer's mouth started to open, intent on asking Tobias what was going to happen now but the other boy beat him to the punch.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered.

"Why?" Spencer said with a small voice.

"Because…because I don't agree with what's about to happen to you and I can't do anything to stop it."

The genius turned and looked at the gilded doors before him. "What's going to happen?" Spencer already had a good feeling as to what was in store for him but he wanted to hear his friend confirm it.

"M-my father, he-he's about to have you molded to fit his tastes," Tobias said with disgust. "And then… and then he'll use you as he sees fit."

The two were silent for a few minutes, each contemplating Spencer's future, when the prince gnashed his teeth together and spat out, "God, I hate him!"

Spencer was surprised to feel the anger oozing off of Tobias when he said those last words. He hadn't known the boy for that long and was shocked that his friend was already feeling such strong emotions over a simple slave's fate.

Out of nowhere an idea sparked to life in Spencer's head. "Well, you could run away…and you could take me with you," he suggested hopefully.

The strength that had just shown in Tobias's emotions seemed to drain away instantly. The anger fell off of his face and was replaced with fear. "He'd find us and punish us."

"No-no he wouldn't. We'd run far from here and hide in the forest. We could steal a bow and arrow before we left. I've got good aim and we could easily build a fire to cook whatever I catch. We'll go far away from here…far away from Georgia…and Quantico…it will be an opportunity for us both to start over. Just the two of us…please Tobias…I don't want to live like this," Spencer beseeched the frightened boy.

It seemed to the co-king that his appeal was going to work. The prince had a far off look on his face and it looked like he was entertaining the slave's suggestion. Unfortunately, at that moment the doors next to them opened, revealing Charles's head groomsman and effectively interrupting Tobias's train of thought.

"Oh! I thought I heard voices out here," the man said, bowing down to the prince out of respect. "How can I be of service, Your Highness?"

Tobias shook his head of whatever thoughts had been floating through his mind and said to the man, "I'm here to deliver my father's newest – uh – slave. He is to be given the full treatment and taken to the king's bedchambers before nightfall."

The man looked Spencer up and down with a look of revulsion. "I've got my work cut out for me this time, I see," he sneered.

"Um – yes, well…you know what my father likes. I'll trust you to it," Tobias said reluctantly. He turned to Spencer and hesitantly met his brown eyes once again, "I really am sorry."

The secret sovereign didn't deign to respond to Tobias's apology. He was too upset that once again the boy knew that what was happening was wrong but refused to do anything about it. Instead, Spencer bowed his head, breaking from the prince's gaze, and turned toward the groom.

He was pushed inside without another room and greeted with the scent of roses and an overwhelming amount of steam.

The head groomsman led Spencer over to a steaming tub of water and said to the two teenagers that were standing nearby, "The king brought home another plaything. You know the drill."

Wordlessly the boys approached Spencer and started to grab at his clothes.

"Hey! What are you doing?" he cried out in embarrassment, backing up into the solid body of the head groom.

"Stand still, you filthy urchin. We've got to prepare you for your audience with the King Charles later," he snarled at the boy he thought was below him in station.

"I-I can do it myself," Spencer stuttered, stumbling forward after the man behind him shoved him in the back.

The groom rolled his eyes, "Fine. Remove those rags and leave them on the floor. Then get into the tub."

The trapped king looked back and forth at the three men, "Y-you don't have to watch."

There was spattering of laughter from his audience before the headman said, "Just do as you're told or else I'll have to get out the whip."

Spencer, who remembered well what the strike of a whip felt like on his fragile skin, nodded glumly and kept his eyes averted to the ground as he stripped his body of his clothes. He could feel his face flush red when his trousers fell away, leaving him completely exposed except for his collar and the key hanging down around his neck. Ignoring the small laughs at his discomfort, Spencer climbed into the tub and gradually lowered his body down into the steaming liquid.

He wasn't even given time to adjust to the temperature when the young men attacked him with soapy pieces of cloth. They were heedless of his discomfort as they scrubbed each and every inch of his anatomy. The captive king let out a few yelps when they scoured his sensitive spots while he tried his best to dislodge their grip from his package. Unfortunately, his struggles to maintain his dignity were met with a sharp knock upside his head and a gruff, "Sit still, slave!"

After that the young man let his body slump limply into the tub, trying to make it as difficult as possible for his groomers to do their job. He then closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the white surface. He tried his best to conjure images of Derek rubbing him all over with the cloths while he teased him by splashing water on his face. Sadly, the pictures in his mind only served as a harsh reminder that his beloved was dead and that he would never again feel Derek's strong hands touching his body.

Thankfully, the bath was soon declared over and Spencer's mind was drawn out of its fantasies. The men instructed him to stand up in the tub and they started to look him over.

The head groom took charge from there and immediately set about getting various measurements from Spencer's body with a tailor's tape measure.

First he reached up and grabbed the slave's forearm wrapping the device around it, "Huh…not much meat on your bones, is there boy? I hope the smithy has something to fit your scrawny arms." His hand then traveled down Spencer's arm and stopped at his wrist, clasping it tightly and bringing it up into his view before giving it the same treatment. "Your wrists aren't much better but I'm sure he'll have something appropriate for 'em. Now lift one of your legs out and put it on the edge of the tub."

Spencer did as instructed and watched as the man also measured the circumference of his ankles. After that the groomsman stood up straight and studied the collar that encapsulated the captive's neck. He ordered the young man to turn around slowly while he had his finger hooked under the bottom edge of the band. Carefully, so as to avoid slipping, Spencer did as instructed and turned his body around.

When his back was to the three men he heard the word, "Stop."

He froze in place and felt a tug on metal collar.

"I don't suppose that key that you wear unlocks this hideous thing?" the man asked.

Remembering his lie to Charles's, Spencer answered judiciously, "It would if the lock wasn't melded shut."

"Then why the key?"

"It's to serve as a reminder that I can never be free of my bonds no matter how close salvation lies."

The man smirked at the boy's answer as he walked back to the front of the tub. "Genius. Absolutely genius…it's a shame it's not gold though. King Charles doesn't settle for silver…as you'll see when you get to his quarters. Well, at least it's got this," he said, yanking on the ring hanging off the front of the collar. "I have something that will go nicely with that…Okay, boys you're in charge of cleaning him up the rest of the way while I go get his uniform. I'm going to lock you in here so our slave here doesn't try something stupid, like trying to escape."

"Yes, sir," they obediently said in unison as their superior walked out of the room, securing the door with a turn of his key.

Immediately, the two boys started talking.

"You're going to need a straight razor and more soap," one young man said as he peered at the slave's nether regions.

"Hell no…I'm older and I've been doing this longer. So you're going to need a straight razor. I'm going to need some shears," the other one declared, his eyes focused on Spencer's hair.

"Fine…let's just get this over with," the younger boy said reluctantly.

The older page smiled at his triumph and went to get the supplies they would need. Meanwhile the other teen started soaping up his rag once again and rubbing it along Spencer's groin. His coworker came back and handed him a straight razor which he immediately applied to the sudsy region.

Spencer flushed with humiliation while someone only a few years younger than him started shaving off his hair. It was a completely violating and demeaning experience that seemed to last forever. When the kid was finally done the co-king was standing in a tub filled with shorn short dark hair.

"Come on now, get out and go sit on that bench there by the mirror. I've got to trim your hair," the older teen instructed, walking behind Spencer as he went where indicated.

The slave sat down on the cushioned seat and faced the looking glass. For the first time in a while he was able to see his haggard appearance. His face was taunt with stress and bags had formed around his eyes, which themselves had a haunted look about them.

The older page came up behind him and gathered Spencer's limp wet hair together behind his head. The captive king watched with mortification as the kid brought the pair of shears up to the hair that Derek so loved and succinctly chopped it off.

Spencer gasped as what was left of his hair fell into its natural position in extremely uneven strands.

"Oh don't worry, I'm not done yet. That was just the first stage. I've got to take your sides all the way down and trim the top to about ½ an inch in length. King Charles says that long hair is something that only a gentleman may wear. Especially since people like you are more inclined to attracting lice," he explained in a bored voice as he continued hacking away at Spencer's hair.

The young monarch had to call on all of his mental reserves in order to keep his emotions under control. Sitting there being forced to watch as his honey brown locks were cropped down to the skin was one of the worse tortures he had ever endured. It felt like this teenage boy was stripping his identity away snip by snip. And worst of all he seemed to go out of his way to make the hair fall past Spencer's eyes and into his lap as a reminder of how powerless he was in this situation.

When the last snip of the shears was complete the image staring back at the genius was unrecognizable. It was a shadow of his former self. His cheeks were sunken and the bones were jutting out from his skin, something that his hair had helped to hide from site. His eyes looked two times bigger, now easily displaying his sorrow for all the world to see. Finally, his collar was more prominently on display now that his layers of hair were no longer present to distract a curious onlooker's eye. Now the band's silvery sheen glinted brightly in the candlelight, proclaiming to all the people in Georgia exactly what his status was among them.

"Well that took longer than I thought," came the head grooms voice from the doorway. "I didn't find out until I was halfway back that the king had a special outfit in mind for this one."

Spencer turned his owlish eyes towards the sound of the man's voice, curious as to what he was going to have to wear.

The groomsman had a bundle of gilt chains gathered up in his arms and very little fabric. Spencer felt his amber pools go wide as the bundle was dropped and his uniform was held up.

From that point forward there was no doubt in Spencer's mind what his duties to the king would entail.

* * *

**Up next: Spencer and Charles will have their first encounter and Derek will start planning Spencer's rescue.**


	9. Solace

**Hi Friends!**

**Long wait = Long Chapter.**

**I'm so sorry for how long this took. I've gotten pretty caught up in writing "Face Value" and other things I don't feel like mentioning.**

**Anyways, thanks for coming back to the story and reading! I don't plan on taking this long to update in the future. Thanks to the two of you who nudge me into getting back on track with this...you know who you are.**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Derek's makeshift crutches clicked and clacked against the cold stone floor of the hallway as he made his way back to his quarters. Inside of his head was a thundering storm of emotions that he couldn't tame. His mind was quick to flit from anger, sadness, depression, hopelessness, and determination. If there had been anyone walking next to him they would have seen his facial expressions change rapidly as they struggled to keep up with his relentless shifts in mood.

When he had finally reached his destination he thrust out one of his crutches and pushed the door open with it. The wooden barrier swung wide, revealing his chambers in a state of disarray.

It wasn't hard to figure out that the room had been ransacked by Charles's troops. The chest of drawers that held all of their jewelry and keepsakes was knocked over and empty. The tapestries had been ripped down off of the walls and the bed linens were missing too. All of the silver and platinum candlesticks, mirrors, and accessories had been taken, including the chamber pot.

The worst thing that the looters had done struck Derek like an arrow in his heart. For his favorite portrait of him and his husband had been damaged. It was the one that Hans Holbein had traveled all the way from England to paint for the royal couple as a wedding gift.

The image was by far Derek's favorite representation of the two of them and he had hung it over the fireplace so that he could see it from anywhere in the room. Holbein, a legend in his field, worked hard to capture the love between the two men. It had taken Hans three long days to perfect their images. The boys had to stand still for hours at a time while the man painstakingly copied their appearance with each brushstroke. The lengthy sessions were tedious but Spencer's perchance at humor and Derek's ability to annoy his husband broke up the monotony.

But the hours put into of holding the same pose with Spencer had paid off. For when the artist had finished it and presented it in front of court, a gasp went through the crowd at how accurately Hans had portrayed the two men. Their images were like mirror reflections, straight down to Spencer's crooked grin and Derek's smitten gaze. No two people had ever looked more in love than the royal couple had in that moment.

Alas, the canvas was now unrecognizable for the masterpiece it once was. There were multiple slashes made by a knife cutting through the fabric. One slit in particular had successfully separated the two men depicted in the picture. It was almost as if the person who mutilated it had gone out of his way to symbolically separate the two lovebirds. Now, all that was left of the formerly exquisite portrait were colorful shreds of canvas hanging limply down from the frame.

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," Aaron said from his position behind his sovereign.

"Yes, well…it seems as though they sought to tear our marriage asunder any which way they could," Derek replied bitterly. The king tore his gaze away from ruined portrait and lumbered over to his favorite chair by the fireplace. He didn't even care that the fabric had been slashed and the stuffing from the cushion was pouring out; he sat down in it anyways.

Sir Hotchner, seeing the emotional and physical toll that this ordeal was having on his king, went ahead and started a fire. He then went to the soldiers that had taken up station by the doors and asked one of them to fetch some refreshments.

When he got back to the fire he sat himself down in one of the other chairs. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat, not bothering to try to converse with the king until he was ready.

The two sat in silence until the food arrived. Due to the siege on the castle the only sustenance available at the moment was dried out strips of meat, chunks of cheese, and stale bread. Regardless of the meager fare, Hotchner loaded up a plate full of food for Derek and poured him a glass of honey mead. He took it over to the forlorn young man and sat it on the table next to him. "You need to eat, Your Grace."

Derek looked over at the food and shook his head, "I'm not hungry."

"That's neither here nor there; your body still needs food."

Begrudgingly, the king pulled the plate onto his lap and started nibbling at the proffered food.

The young man was halfway through his wedge of cheese when a knock came at his chamber doors. He looked over at Sir Hotchner and nodded his head, giving the other man permission to answer it.

The knight did as bidden and went to greet their visitor. "Ah, Sir Kassmeyer, please come in and join us."

"Thank you," the man answered, making his way over to the fire and sitting down.

"Here, let me pour you a drink and you can update us on how everything is coming along."

Sam eagerly took the mug of mead out of Hotchner's hands and took a long draught. He let out a small sound of approval at the sweet drink and wiped the foam off of his upper lip when he finished. "Well, I come bearing some good news," he started. "We were able to round up all of Charles's soldiers with minimal injuries to our own men. We've stuffed them all in the dungeon; the cells are filled to capacity. I wanted to find out from you, Your Grace, what to do with them next." He took another sip of the drink before continuing, "Other than that, we were able to recover some of our stolen goods. They were loaded up on carts that hadn't been to ship off to Georgia yet. Let's see…we found your mother's jewels, most of the silver and fine china, multiple barrels of wine and ale, and the tapestries."

Derek was only half listening as Kassmeyer relayed his news. The king honestly didn't care about whether or not the castle's valuables were found. The only thing he cared about right now was his husband and getting him back safely. The only bit of information that he heard in Sam's report that was even remotely interesting was the fact that they had quite a few hostages at their disposal.

"Sam, exactly how many of Charles's men did we capture?" Derek asked out of curiosity.

"Uh…Your Highness…I didn't count…but if I had to guess I would say at least seventy-five."

The monarch looked over at his most trusted knight and friend. "Did you hear that Aaron? Seventy-five."

"Yes, Your Majesty. What of it?"

"Well first off, when we are alone in here you two can drop the formalities. I'm Derek. Second, don't you see? We can contact Charles and tell him that we are interested in a trade – Spencer for his men."

Aaron carefully considered Derek's suggestion before he responded, "But Your Grace – uh, Derek – don't you think that King Charles will find it suspicious that you want to trade all seventy-five of his men for one slave? He'll know right away that Spencer is more valuable than he thought and that discovery alone could endanger Spencer even more."

"Aaron is right, Derek. Charles will know something is fishy and he could very well try to force it out of Spencer," Sam added.

The king sat back in his chair in a huff. "Well than what do you propose?"

Sir Hotchner ruminated on the young man's question for a few minutes. "What if we approach him with a peace treaty?"

"Peace? I don't want peace with Charles after what he did! I want him dead! I want his head rolling across the courtyard. I want to feel the dirt under my feet squish from his blood! There is no way I'll ever consider peace with that man," he vowed vehemently.

The wise knight allowed his friend to rant and rave, knowing it was good for his soul to let his anger out. When his sovereign had calmed down he broached the subject again. "Derek, here me out please. I know you don't want peace; Lord knows that none of us do. But Charles is a vain and greedy man and right now he has no idea that his precious conquest has been thwarted. When he finds out that the men he left here at the castle were vanquished he will lose it. He'll immediately start planning his next attack and he will never be satisfied until you and King Spencer are dead and Quantico is ruled by Georgia."

Aaron took a deep breath and allowed Derek a moment to think about what he was trying to say. "If we approach him with news of his failure but we do it in a way that massages his ego, we may be able to open up negotiations with him under the veil of peace. We trick him into thinking that we are impressed by his abilities to lead an army and we want to join forces with him to take over the rest of North America."

"Go on," Derek encouraged, his interest in this plot growing with each word Hotchner spoke.

"We'll have you start off by sending back some of his troops as a goodwill gesture to convince him to open up a line of negotiation. You'll ask for nothing in return except for the safe passage of your men and tease him with a promise to return the rest of our captives on a later date. Then, if he buys into it, you will offer to go to Georgia to discuss the terms of peace. Once we are there you will engage in diplomatic discussions that focus on uniting our kingdoms and plan for a future in which together you will conquer the rest of the land. It's at this time you will bring up your demands. Again though, you cannot ask for Spencer alone. Tell him you want all of the people from Quantico that have been taken to be returned, including your mother's slave. From there, sign any papers that you must and discuss the dates that you will be ready to start the joint campaign. Once it is all settled, we will get out of Georgia as fast as we can and renege on our agreement. Spencer and the rest of our people will be safe and sound and we'll be ready to take on Charles when he realizes he's been deceived," Sir Hotchner concluded.

Derek tented his fingers and bit his lip. He really liked the knight's plan but he had some doubts about it working. "Who do we send down there initially? I'm not sending either of you. I need you two here to run things while I'm out of commission."

"I thought we would wait till Lord Rossi was feeling better and send him," Hotch said simply.

"What? Are you insane? Charles will try to kill him again," Derek argued.

"No, he won't. He'll be upset that he failed. Having Lord Rossi deliver the message is like a proverbial slap in the face. I think Charles will be baited by having to face a foe he could not defeat. And, Lord Rossi will know how to keep his cool and not let on that he knows Spencer. In fact, Charles already knows that they are familiar with each other due to Lord Rossi courting your mother. He won't think twice if Dave wants to talk to Spencer, whereas if it was someone else he might be suspicious."

"True…I hadn't thought about that," the king admitted. "Okay…which prisoners do we initially send to Georgia and which do we keep for the actual negotiations?"

"We send a small group of about ten down with Lord Rossi and a few men of our own to keep them in line. We only want to give Charles a taste of what he can have back. We must save our best for last."

"And who or what is our best?"

This was the first question that Aaron did not have an answer for. He turned to Kassmeyer, "Sam, you were there when the prisoners were rounded up. Did we manage to capture any of Charles's higher ranking officers?"

A large smile overcame Sam's face, "In fact, we did." The knight turned to face his king and revealed, "Your Grace, we managed to apprehend one of Charles's most trusted knight, Sir Buford."

Derek froze in place as the implications of the bastard's capture filling him with hope. "Carl Buford?"

"The very one, Your Highness."

A vengeful look permeated Derek's features as he uttered, "Excellent." He then grabbed his mug of mead and threw back the rest of its contents. "Gentlemen, I believe we are at the start of a brilliant plan."

* * *

Later that night, Derek sat all alone in front of the fire and reflected on the plot that he had ironed out with his men. He knew it wasn't a perfect plan but at this point they had no other choice. They had to go down to Georgia and bring Spencer home.

He took another swig of mead and closed his eyes.

The lovesick king conjured up an image of his lithe lover. Derek could feel a smile spread across his face as his imagined husband flashed him a mischievous grin as he tucked a few strands of his long brown locks behind his ear. The king reached his hand out and cupped his beloved's angular face, reveling in the feel of the boy's soft skin against his calloused fingers. What excited him even more was how responsive Spencer was to his touch. The way the young man tilted his head to fit into Derek's palm and how he nuzzled his nose against the king's fingers set the king's groin on fire with desire.

The sovereign was just about to send his dominant hand down to his nether-regions to take care of business when a loud knock thundered through the room, causing the arousing image to vanish from his mind.

"Who is it?" he yelled, knowing that he couldn't get up due to the embarrassing bulge that had popped up in his breeches.

He heard the door creak open and one of his favorite voices in the world called out, "It's just me, Your Grace. Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Ah, my buxom beauty, of course I have time for you," he answered as he straightened up in his chair and tried to pull his jerkin down to hide his swelling. "Come on in and take a seat."

Penelope giggled at his kind words and scurried over sit in one of the vacant chairs. The king poured her a glass of the sweet drink in one of the extra mugs sitting on the table next to him. He handed it over to her and asked, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

She took a tentative sip of the honey mead, wincing as it burned going down her throat. "I came to see how you were doing…especially after what happened with Jennifer."

Derek grimaced at the memory of his behavior, knowing that he owed the girl an apology. "I'm fine."

Penelope was quick to call him on his lie, "Don't even try that, Your Grace."

"Sweetness, drop the formalities. It's Derek right now."

"Alright, Derek. How are you doing? And don't even think about trying to lie to me again."

He turned his brown eyes to meet her gaze and exhaled. "I feel like my life is crumbling down around me and there is nothing I can do about it," he admitted truthfully.

"Ohhhhh, my liege," she cooed, scooting her chair closer to his so she could reach out and clasp his hands in hers. "You will get through this and we will bring Spencer home safe and sound."

"I wish I could believe you," he said. "But there are too many obstacles standing in our way to say that with any certainty. We'll be lucky if we can even get Charles to let us into Georgia let alone rescue Spencer if…if he's still alive."

Penelope gulped before she said her next words, "I know you don't want to hear this, but the way Jennifer describe his treatment…it sounded like King Charles wasn't interested in killing our darling genius anytime soon."

The young sovereign closed his eyes as mental images of what she was implying infiltrated his brain. "Honestly, I don't know what's worse, sweetheart, the love of my life being killed or being forced into sexual submission."

His good friend squeezed his hands tighter in support. "Right now, you can't think about that. If you do you'll just spiral down into a depression so deep you won't be able to help him. You must stayed focus on his rescue. We will help him - you both, pick up the pieces once he is home safe and sound."

"…If I even make it home," he muttered. There was a good chance that this rescue mission could get him killed or captured and he had to face that reality. The thought of dying didn't bother him as long as Spencer safe. He'd willingly sacrifice his own life if it meant his lover was free.

A sudden smack to the back of his head knocked him out of his ominous thoughts. "Don't you dare," the plump woman said heatedly.

"Ow! Don't I dare, what?" he asked, rubbing the sore spot.

"Don't you even dare think about getting yourself killed. Whatever happens – whatever it is you have planned - you had better make sure that you come home too."

Derek eyed his distraught friend, "Penelope, I'm going to do whatever it takes to bring him home, even if saving him sends me to Heaven."

"And how will that help Spencer? Did you think about that?" she asked shrilly. "Did you even stop to think of what your death would do to him? He loves you with his heart and soul. Losing you would kill him faster than a sword through the heart; especially if you died trying to save him."

The monarch allowed Penelope's words permeate his skull. She was right. Spencer would blame himself for Derek's death. The poor kid would probably shut himself off from the rest of the world after that and allow himself to waste away to nothing. All of the king's efforts would have been for naught.

The young man knew then and there that he'd have to be more meticulous in his planning with Sir Hotchner and Kassmeyer. They would have to triple check every single detail and come up with multiple contingency plans. There was no way that Derek could allow Spencer to come home alone. "Either we come home together or not at all," he vowed.

Penelope nodded her agreement, "And that's why you're going to let me help."

"No! There is no way I'm going to put you in danger too. You'll stay here and help run the castle while we're away."

"To hell with that! I'm just as strong and stubborn as the rest of you. You will not make me stay here like some kept woman. Spencer is my friend too and I can help. You never know when a woman's touch is going to be needed, especially in that horrid place. Believe me, we need to be prepared for anything and having someone as well-endowed as me could come in handy," she lectured.

"How?"

She gave him a sly wink and leaned forward and lightly kissed his cheek, "Because I haven't met a man yet that can resist my charm…even you."

Derek grinned, "Truer words were never spoken."

"I know," she said triumphantly. "So, will you let me help?"

"Will you take 'No' for an answer?"

"No," she grinned, knowing that he was about to concede.

The king frowned before he spoke next. "Alright, you can help. But you've got to promise me something…"

"Anything!"

"If things start to go bad – if for some reason it looks like Charles is going to win, you'll get out of there. You'll save yourself."

Her sparkly smile fell at his demand but she knew she had to agree, "I promise I will." The blonde then tightened her grip on his hands again, "Sweetie, you look exhausted. I think it's time for you to get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Yeah, I am tired, but I doubt I'll be able rest. I just…I can't stop thinking about him and what he's going through. And it hurts…it hurts knowing there is nothing I can do to ease his suffering."

"I know…but you have to try. You'll feel better in the morning. I promise."

"How? The rising sun doesn't just take away the pain," he said miserably.

"No, but it gives you strength anew with which to deal with it," she said wisely as she got up and placed a tender peck on his forehead. "Now do as you're told and get some sleep. There is much to do and you must be at your best. Spencer is counting on you."

The king reached out and grabbed her hand as she turned to walk away, "Penelope…"

She turned and looked back at him, questioningly.

"You are my God given solace," he said sincerely, tears sparkling in his eyes.

Overwhelmed by his words, she used their connection to pull him up out of his seat and embraced him in her arms.

* * *

As soon as the preparations were complete the slave was dragged by the head groom down the hall and into the king's private quarters. The young man had tried to put up a fight along the way but his struggles were weak and didn't deter their progress at all. The guards standing outside of the doors to the king's chambers saw them coming and didn't hesitate to open the doors. Spencer's handler tugged at the golden leash that was now attached to his collar and drug him into the room.

The young man was about to cry out against the harsh treatment but the second they entered the bedchamber Spencer halted his steps and gawked at his surroundings.

The young man had never seen such opulence in his whole life. For starters, in the center of the room was a five tiered chandelier littered with tiny pieces of glass that caught the light emanating from the lit candles perched along its perimeter. If Spencer didn't know any better he would have thought that it was made of diamonds for the brilliance that came from them was overwhelming.

The bed was an enormous ornate piece of furniture that was separated from the rest of the room by a gilded wooden balustrade. It was covered by a sumptuous piece of red velvet trimmed with golden thread. The headboard and footboard were made of solid gold and each post was formed into the shape of a small haloed cherub. The canopy of the bed was over fifteen feet high and made of the same velvet as the duvet. The matching blood red curtains that the king used to block out the light in the morning were pulled back behind the headboard posts and tied with golden braids of rope.

The rest of the furniture in the room was just as luxurious as the bed. Each piece was crafted to be excessive and showy, for the owner wanted others to feel jealous of what he possessed. There was no doubt that it was a room that was made to impress and not to comfort. Charles was definitely more concerned with flaunting his wealth than spending it wisely.

"Move your arse, boy. We don't have all day. The king could arrive at any minute and he'll expect you to be ready," the groomsman bellowed, jerking the golden chain. Once he got him into the middle of the room the man forced Spencer down to the ground. The groom then took his end of the chain and coiled it in a circle next to the slave. "Sit up on your knees, keep your head bowed and don't say a word."

Spencer knew that disobeying the man's orders would be useless; so he did as he was told and knelt down to the ground.

"Now when the king comes in here be sure to do everything he says when he says it. Don't anger him. Show him complete submission and you'll be fine. It's the ones that don't listen that find themselves without a head in a matter of days," the man explained as he backed away from the boy and sat down in a chair by the window.

The two of them sat there for what felt like hours. Before he knew it, Spencer's legs had lost all feeling and his neck was beginning to ache. The boy tried shifting his body weight around but that only made his situation worse. For when the circulation in his legs started to come back to life it brought with it a pain that felt like a thousand needles were being stabbed into his skin all at once.

Though he tried as hard as he could, he wasn't able to keep a small whimper of discomfort from escaping his throat.

"Oh shut it. You're life's about to get a whole lot worse than it is now. If you can't handle a few aches and pains than you're not going to last very long," the groomsman grumbled from his cushy window-seat.

"Good," he whispered to himself. If death was the only way he was going to get out of this situation than he'd welcome it with open arms.

"What was that?" he man behind him probed. "Didn't I tell you to keep your mouth shut?"

The slave could sense that the groomsman was getting up out of his seat. He didn't turn around but he could hear the other's footfalls as he came up to him. Spencer felt his body tense in anticipation but whatever the man was going to do was thwarted by the sound of raucous laughter coming from the king's receiving chambers.

Spencer looked up at the doorway and watched as they opened wide, revealing the king and his brother.

"Bow your head, you dolt," hissed the man next to him.

The genius quickly tilted his head down and waited anxiously for Charles to approach.

The laughter that had preceded the king's arrival died as he entered the room. "Ahh…my toy is ready," Charles commented upon seeing Spencer.

Raphael snorted but didn't say anything in response.

"Your Highness," the groomsman said reverently as the king approached him and the slave. He held out the key to Spencer's restraints before he bowed low out of respect. "I have prepared him to your liking."

"I'll be the judge of that," growled Charles. "Stand up, slave."

A shiver of fear ran down the boy's spine as he struggled to stand up. Unfortunately, his legs were still void of feeling and difficult to maneuver. He tried his hardest to pull them out from under himself and steady them on the ground but they refused to follow his orders. As a result, he ended up landing on his butt with them strewn out in front of him.

"Stand up!"

The co-king tried again to plant his feet and push himself up but it was to no avail. "I can't," he breathed out in a voice so low Charles barely heard him.

The menacing monarch growled in displeasure. "Raphael, pick him up," he barked.

The stoic man immediately did as his brother ordered. He positioned himself behind the slave and grabbed him underneath his arms, hoisting him up off the floor. He steadied the boy's feet on the ground and backed away from him.

Spencer's legs screamed in protest as the stabbing sensation from earlier spread across the whole lower half of his body. It took all his mental reserves to force himself to maintain his balance while he legs came back to life.

"Now was that so hard?" Charles mocked as he gripped the boy's chin and tilted his head up.

Spencer averted his eyes towards the wall and remained silent, knowing that it was a rhetorical question meant to humiliate him further.

The monarch dropped his hand from away from the boy and took a step back to admire the groomsman's handiwork.

The Spencer had been made over exactly to Charles's liking. He was nearly naked, dressed only in a short gossamer gold loincloth strung on a gilt chain that was wrapped three times around his tiny waist. His chest was bare except for the key to Derek's collar that was hanging from the chain around his neck. His arms were accented with gilded bands studded with rubies that perched close to the top of each of his forearms along with matching ones ringing his milky white thighs.

His wrists and ankles had similar bands encapsulating them except that they each had a loop affixed to them. Currently his wrists were locked together, allowing no room for movement; while his feet were joined by a foot long golden chain – which allowed him to walk but only in tiny steps.

His hair had been shorn down on the sides and there were a few inches of honey-brown left on top. A golden band was positioned in the middle of his forehead and wrapped around to the back. It had a teardrop sized ruby hanging down in the center of it while little chips were embedded throughout the rest.

The king's eyes seemed to devour the boy's image. His face took on a wolfish expression – like a predator that was about to take down its prey. "Leave us," he commanded as his groin started stirring to life.

Both men bowed their way out of the room silently; Raphael was the last to leave, shutting the door soundly behind him.

The king waited until they were completely alone to speak. "Look at me," he ordered.

Spencer hesitantly fixed his gaze on the man's chin.

"Look me in the eye, boy."

Slowly, the captive king raised his honeyed orbs to meet the man's steely gaze.

"I'm going to make you mine tonight. By the end you are going to be begging for more like a goggled-eyed whore," he said lasciviously.

The genius couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through his body at the man's words.

"Does that disgust you?" Charles asked menacingly.

Spencer's mind was screaming at him to placate the king but his sharp tongue overruled his brain. "The mere thought of your touch is repulsive," he spat out insolently.

The king slapped him viciously across the face; the force of which caused the youth's weak legs to collapse underneath him. He crumpled down to the ground and struggled to push himself up with his bound hands.

Charles didn't wait for him to get up; instead he reach down and grasped the golden leash. He yanked it with all his strength, pulling the boy up by his neck.

"You'll be singing a different tune by the time I'm finished with you," the king vowed maliciously as he pulled his toy over to his bed.

Spencer dug in his heels and tried to impede their progress but Charles was stronger. The sovereign paid his struggles no heed as he jerked on the leash, pulling the boy along behind him.

The co-king was coughing uncontrollably due to the pressure the collar had put on his windpipe. He was doubled over, trying to catch his breath, when the monarch's arms wrapped around him and threw him on the bed.

Charles quickly affixed the golden chain attached to Spencer's collar to one of the posts, shortening the lead in order to hamper the boy's movements. He then flipped the young man onto his stomach and climbed up on top of him. He enjoyed feeling the kid's body flailing beneath him as he tried to put off the inevitable.

The king traced his hands over the scars covering the slave's back. He knew they were lash marks just by looking at them. His finger's wandered up to the garish silver collar and tugged at the clasp. He wondered if there was some way the smithy could gild it so it was no longer such a vile color.

Beneath him, Spencer was frantically trying to think of a way to stop what was about to happen. He kept trying to thrust his hips up to dislodge the king but it was no use. He would have tried to use his hands but they were stuck beneath him, glued to his chest due to his body weight pushing down on them.

The dread he was feeling was suddenly heightened when Charles backed off of him and used his gruff hands to take hold of his hips, pulling them into the air.

"No!" Spencer shouted in desperation.

The king let a derisive laugh and leaned down and hissed in his toy's ear, "You will be mine, body and soul."

Knowing that he was about to lose this battle, Spencer said the only thing he could think of, "Use my body as you will but my soul will always belong to another."

"We'll see about that," Charles sneered.

Spencer scrunched his eyelids together tightly and set his jaw. He refused to make a noise as the abhorrent king tarnished him with his seed. When the first thrust penetrated his backside Spencer desperately clutched the key that was hanging around his neck. He held on to it for the rest of the night, never once letting go of it or the memory of Derek's smiling face when he gave it to him. Sadly, that little piece of metal was the only thing on the planet that could give him any solace as he endured Charles's insatiable lust.

* * *

**Alright...so there will be a time jump in the next chapter.  
**

***As for the painting...a few of you were probably like "Hey, if there was an amazing painting of Derek and Spencer hanging in their bedroom, how did Charles not know who Spencer was?" My answer to that is that Charles didn't waste his time ransacking the castle. He had his men do it for him and he never saw the portrait. But...that plot point might come into play later with a certain Georgian soldier...***

**Anyways, till next time.**


	10. Worlds Apart

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for all the follows, reviews, and adds. It's nice to know that people are still reading this story.**

**So, sorry for the short chapter but I really felt like this one needed to be on its own. The emotions are so heavy (and a bit cheesy) and it just didn't pair well with the time jump that is taking place in the next chapter. I hope you understand.**

**Please forgive/ignore any mistakes. I'm doing my best to catch them all but sometimes they sneak through.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The smile on Derek's face fell the moment Penelope walked out the door of his chambers. She was a most wonderful friend and confidante but even her consoling words couldn't uplift his spirits.

The love of his life had been taken away from him again.

Why did it seem like the world was conspiring to keep the two kings apart?

With a frustrated groan Derek shifted in his cushioned chair, trying to gently readjust his position without upsetting his injuries. He turned his head and glanced over to the windowed alcove. His heart ached a little at the sight of the small recess. It was one of Spencer's favorite spots to sit and read. On the floor there were pillows and blankets piled up into an almost nest-like shape. He could tell that his lover had been utilizing the space often since he'd had been gone. Propped up on an emerald green pillow was a well-worn copy of "Utopia" next to an empty silver chalice that was settled on the floor. The king felt a small tug at his lips as he pictured his best friend relaxing there after a long day of running the kingdom.

A longing to be closer to Spencer took over his mind as he looked at the cozy spot. Injuries be damned, he hefted himself out of his chair and hobbled over to the recess with his crutches. He gradually lowered himself down into the swirl of fabric and made himself comfortable in his mate's nest.

Once he was settled he trained his eyes on the clear starlight sky, taking in its beauty as his heart ached with memories of his kidnapped lover. For stargazing was always an activity that the two kings had enjoyed together and doing it alone left him feeling empty and unfulfilled.

He broke his gaze away from the picturesque view and looked down at his lap. He fiddled with his fingers that were glowing in the light of the almost full moon. "Ahhh, my love…why is it always you?" he said aloud.

There was no answer.

He looked back outside and studied the illuminated meadowland that stretched far and wide on the other side of his window. "I know you're far away but you're not alone. As long as my heart is beating I'll always be there with you. And I promise you that I will get you back. Even if I have to dig a hole through the Earth to get to you, I will bring you back home – where you belong. You are my true love – my heaven - and nothing is going to keep us apart. So hold on. Do what you have to do to survive and I'll be there as soon as I can. Okay? Just remember that I love you to the depths of my soul and I always will," the king professed, wishing that his lover could hear him even though they were leagues apart.

The forlorn lover closed his eyes after his soliloquy, gathering his strength and righting his mind. He had to be strong and endure this trial if he had any hopes of seeing Spencer again.

"Just hold on," he murmured to the darkened land that was stretched out before him. He then slowly pulled himself up off the floor and touched his hands to the glass, his brown eyes searching off in the distance for any sign that his words might have been heard.

* * *

Spencer sat miserably in the oriel window of King Charles's bedroom. His legs were pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. The young man was leaning against the glass that protected him from the howling night wind, secretly wishing it would shatter and send him plummeting down to his death. Of course, if the glass did break he wouldn't even make it all the way to the ground. For the collar around his neck had a golden leash attached to it which was currently secured to one of the posts of Charles's bed.

A shiver ran through Spencer's body as a cool draft snuck through the window and brushed along his exposed skin. The young monarch was still dressed only in the sheer loincloth, and it did nothing to help him combat the cold. As a result of his flimsy garb, he tried to pull his limbs in closer to his body to conserve heat but they were already packed as tightly as possible.

Doing his best to push his discomfort out of his mind, Spencer pushed his cheek flush against the window and stared out into the night sky. Up above him the stars were shining brightly and a waxing gibbous moon was visible in the eastern sky. It was a view that he knew Derek would have enjoyed sharing with him for they used to always go up to the top of one of the turret walls on clear a night such as this and stargaze together.

Alas, they would never share another moment like that ever again and that thought alone sent daggers through Spencer's heart. He had to bring one his hand up to his mouth and smother the sob that was desperately trying to break free. As he bit down on the tender flesh in between his thumb and index finger he realized that there were tears blurring his vision.

Unashamed, he blinked his eyes slowly and released them from their socket's hold. He wallowed in the sensation of them streaming in warm tracks down his face, the feeling grounding him in this moment.

Behind him came a rumbling snore from the slumbering king. The man had fallen asleep almost instantly after he had sated his needs by using and abusing the slave's body.

It had been worse than Spencer could have ever imagined.

Shuddering, the captive king tried to shove the horrid memories of the assault from his mind but his aching body served as a constant reminder of what he had just endured.

"_You are the most ravishing creature that has ever adorned my bed."_

Charles's disgusting praise echoed in the boy's ears as he shifted positions. He could still feel the man's hands exploring his most intimate places. The garish king's fingers had flitted between being gentle and bruising as they traced every line on Spencer's body. And he had been forced to endure it all due to the bindings that were wrapped around his wrists and ankles.

"_You are now chained to me forever."_

The monarch's words were said with such passion yet mocked Spencer all the same as the man joyously used the golden chains to manipulate his toy's body. Throughout the rape he would purposefully shorten the young man's range of movement so he could enjoy watching him struggle against the fetters. The feelings of power that came from restraining the slave was like a drug to Charles and fueled his desire for the boy's pale flesh that much more.

A loud boom of thunder sounded in the distance just as Spencer felt himself getting lost in the vivid memory of the night's events.

He shook his head, dispelling his prior thoughts and allowed a smile to play on his lips. "Thank you, Derek," he whispered, looking up at the clouds that were slowly invading the sky. "I don't know if I could have escaped that memory on my own."

A flash of lightening illuminated the sky in response.

"You always knew when I needed saving from myself," he reminisced. "You said it was written all over my face."

The sounds of the storm inched closer as Spencer continued his one-sided conversation.

"But now…I guess I'll have to look out for myself," he said softly as the tears he cried earlier reemerged. "And honestly…I-I don't want to. I-I don't want to live in a world without you. Without my mom…without Lord Rossi. D-Derek, I-I've lost too much…and-and I just want to be with you. I-if I can, I'm going to find a way to do it too. I-I refuse to live like this. I-I shouldn't have to…especially if everything that was worth living for is gone."

A brilliant flash of light lit up the whole chamber just as Spencer finished his words. It was followed by a colossal roar of thunder the likes of which the young man had never heard before. The lights and sounds were quickly followed by a mixture of hail and rain that bombarded the window as the clouds unleashed their load.

The young sovereign's expressive eyes went wide at the sudden fury that nature had released upon the world. His eyes searched the heavens as if he was looking for a reason for this sudden onslaught.

"I-I don't understand. I thought you would want us to be together."

"Who the hell are you talking to boy?" bellowed Charles from beneath his covers. The noise of the storm had interrupted his sleep and he was as mad as hell.

A startled Spencer unfurled his body and turned toward the bed, his bindings rattling against each other at the sudden movement. "N-no one, Sire."

The cranky ruler sat up straight and reached toward the bed post that had the golden chain affixed to it. He grabbed the leash and started to drag his prize back toward him. "Who gave you permission to get out of bed?"

Spencer tried resisting the force of the pull but soon found himself scrambling up onto the mattress.

"Answer your king!" Charles demanded as he brought the boy's face inches from his own.

He closed his eyelids tightly missing the glee in the king's demented orbs as he drank in his captive's distress, "N-no one, Your Highness."

"Exactly," he spat. "And now I'll teach you what happens when you do things without my approval."

"N-no, please," the boy begged. "I-I promise it won't happen again."

"Oh, I can guarantee that it won't," Charles said wolfishly as he pushed his prey onto his back.

Spencer, knowing that he had no chance of escape, allowed his body to go limp and pliable. He did his best to ignore the king's rough handling and angled his head toward the window. The youth steadied his sight on the whirling madness of the storm outside and tried to block out the atrocities that were being enacted upon him.

* * *

**Oh the cheese :) I'm a sucker for good cheeses though.**

**Awww...I even felt bad writing that last part. Poor Spencer.**

**Alright, next chapter is the time jump and we are going to get the rescue started! Yay! I just hope our favorite genius is still in one piece (mentally that is).**


	11. A Friendly Face

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites! Sorry the last chapter was so mushy...I couldn't help myself.**

**Please forgive any mistakes!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**6 Months Later**

It was well past midnight when Tobias picked up his black bishop and moved it. A small smile erupted on his face as he knocked over the other player's king. "Checkmate." This was the first game that Tobias had won all night and he reveled in the triumphant feeling that flooded his body.

It was common for the two young men to be cloistered away in King Charles's bedchambers the whole night enjoying each other's company. For the king had no use for his slave that night and whenever he wasn't needed Spencer was confined to the monarch's rooms. So for the past few months the prince had made a point to join his new friend on evenings such as these and enjoyed himself with the one person that didn't treat him like a leper. Often, they would while away the hours playing multiple games of chess, most of which Reed had won.

"Finally," Tobias added to his winning declaration. "See? You are not unbeatable. I knew if I put my mind to it that I would win eventually." The prince lifted his eyes from the board in order to see the slave's reaction. Immediately, his victorious feelings dissipated at the sight of his companion.

Spencer wasn't even paying attention to the board at all. Instead his gaze was steadied on the night sky that was visible through the window over Tobias's shoulder. His gaunt face had a faraway look on it as if he was lost in a memory.

"Reed?"

Tobias felt a twinge of concern when the slave did not stir from his thoughts. So he reached out his hand and laid it on the skinny one that was resting on the table. His fingers easily encircled Spencer's forearm. He gripped his friend and tried to shake him out of his daze.

The vigorous movement succeeded in pulling the young man away from his daydream. He blinked his big brown eyes a few times than steadied his clear gaze on his only friend. "I-I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

Tobias sighed and released his hold on the boy's arm. He sat back in his chair and said, "You were thinking about him again. Weren't you?"

A pained look flitted across the captive king's face. "Yeah…uh-yes. I-I was."

The two young men sat in silence. This wasn't the first time that Spencer had lost himself in memories of Derek. Sometime he would purposefully bring them to the surface to help himself through harrowing moments and at other times he would just accidently slip away into his happy memories.

Tobias was the only one in the castle that knew about Spencer's late lover. He didn't know very many details but he knew that the slave had been deeply in love with his now deceased companion.

"Tell me more about him," the prince requested.

Surprised, Spencer looked at the other young man and his facial features softened a bit. "I-uh-I don't know where to start."

"Well, tell me what you liked the most about him," Tobias suggested.

The boy's umber eyes broke away from his friend's and stared out the window again. The prince could see that the slave was trying to decide what to reveal.

It almost seemed as if he wasn't going to get any answer but then the young man's sorrowful voice started sounding.

"Do you know what a telescope is?"

"Yeah, sure. Father's scientist has one up in the east tower. He showed it to me once. I was pretty amazed at how close to the moon it made me feel. Oh, and the stars…I almost thought I could reach my hand out and touch them," Tobias remembered. "Why?"

Reed smiled at the question, "Well, I always thought of Der-uh…my lover as my own personal telescope."

The prince wrinkled his brow at his friend's explanation. "I don't understand."

"Well, telescopes are something scientists use to discover things out in the universe that nobody has ever seen before. And that's what my beloved did with me…he saw things in me that no one else ever did. He looked past my slave status and saw the person that was underneath. He made me feel like I was worth something and showed me who I really am…was."

"Was?"

Spencer sighed, "All those wonderful things he discovered in me…the way he made me feel…that's all gone now. It died with him." The boy looked down at his wrists and plucked at the chains, "All I am is a slave again. No more, no less."

"You say 'again' as though you weren't a slave when my father took you," Tobias pried.

Blinking his owlish eyes, Reed look up at his friend with a slightly startled expression, "I-I…well…he made me feel free. I-I was still a slave but when I was with him I didn't feel like it. And the-the members of the royal family that I worked for treated me with love and respect. They never used me and humiliated me like your father does."

The prince could hear the slave's sincere love for his former masters in his voice but he couldn't help but to continue to pry. For while the two young men had developed a pseudo friendship since the attack on Quantico they had never delved into Reed's past as deeply as they were now. "What about the collar?"

Immediately, the captive king's hand grasped the metal circlet and pulled at it awkwardly. "This wasn't their fault. This was King William's idea. He was a hateful man that looked down on anyone of slave status. He thought that forcing slaves to wear collars would be another way to control them. He came up with the bright idea to fuse the lock closed and decided to use me as a trial run. Luckily I was the only one that had to endure such treatment."

"Luckily? I'd say that's hardly lucky. I can see the scarring around your neck from here."

"Yes…but no one else had to be put through that. No one else has to wear the symbol of their former status forever cemented around their neck. And since King Derek abolished slavery when he took the throne no one can tell who used to be a slave and who wasn't. They are all free to live their lives however they choose and they won't be discriminated against for what they used to be. So no…while I may not have been dealt the "lucky" hand, I'm glad that no one else had to endure what I went through," Spencer explained honestly.

Tobias shook his head, "You're too nice. I would have been furious that I was the only one. And on top of all that you were the only person in the whole realm that had to maintain their slave status. How was that fair? Why didn't King Derek set you free too?"

"He did…," Reed murmured looking down at his lap.

"What?"

"Oh-uh-I…I said that he did," Spencer gulp down a breath of air hoping that Tobias would buy the lie he had cooked up a long time ago in case someone asked him that very question. "Essentially I was the queen's slave and the king didn't want to upset his mother by taking me away. So he sat me down one night and asked me if I would continue on in my current position until the queen had no more use for me. He told me that I would be secretly receiving payment for my services and that the queen would never be the wiser. I agreed because the queen mother had never been a cruel mistress to me; I really enjoyed working for her. So in all actuality, I was a free man playing a slave."

Tobias blinked his eyes slowly and winced, "So my father didn't take a slave as one of his spoils of war but a free man that used to be a slave? God, Reed. I'm so sorry. You waited all your life to be liberated from the tyrannical rule of King William, you lived a few years of happiness under King Derek, and then my father came along and ruined it all. He-he took you away from your home, enslaved you again…and he-he killed your lover – your telescope. I-I just can't apologize for his actions enough."

"It's not your fault," the captive said. "Your father is responsible for his own deeds." Spencer opened his mouth as if to say more but must have thought better of it.

Tobias knew what his friend had wanted to say though, "I-I know that I could help you…uh could have helped you escape. But like I told you before my father is just too powerful. Trust me…it's better this way."

The slave refused to meet the prince's eyes as he spouted out the same excuse he had given before. Instead, he purposefully rattled his chains as he stood up from the chess table, putting his scantily clad body on display. He wrapped his arms as best he could around his waist and wandered over to the fire. As he stood in front of the blaze his body glowed with a golden hue, the light of the flames catching on the various jewels that adorned his pale skin.

The prince knew that his words were a disappointment to the young man but there was no way he could go against his father and win. Surely his friend understood that.

Tobias stood up from his seat and walked over to his father's captive. He put his hands on Reed's shoulders and squeezed them tightly, "I do hope that I've made your time here a bit more bearable though."

Spencer cocked his head sideways and furrowed his brow.

"I-I mean…I hope you see me as someone you can lean on – someone you can depend on. I know that my father can be…harsh…but I'll always be here to talk to. Believe me…I like having you around. You're my only friend. I was so scared when I found out that you had tried to kill yourself a few weeks ago. I'm so glad your…your suicide attempt wasn't successful," Tobias confessed.

The slave cringed at the verbal reminder of his epic failure.

Naturally, the captive king had spiraled down into an extreme depressive state over the past six months. Every day that he woke up next to Charles only served to push him deeper into the dark depths of his mind. Spencer, who had decided at the very beginning of his captivity that he didn't want to live like this, had always been on the lookout for any opportunity to escape.

A few weeks ago it finally dawned on him; the solution to his problem had been within his reach all along – his chains. The amount of links in between his wrists were long enough to wrap around his throat. So, one time when he had been left alone in the king's chambers he managed to encircle his neck with the restraints. He positioned the metal links beneath his collar and then climbed up on the bed. He was in the middle of trying to fasten his manacles to a hook embedded in one of the posts when the head groomsman came in the room and caught him.

Charles had been furious when he found out what Spencer had tried to do. As a result, he severely beat his slave to where he could barely move for the next week. During the young man's recovery time the blacksmith forged another set of fetters but this time he only included six chain-links in between each wrist, making it impossible for him to try his idea again.

Now, Spencer was diligently watching out for any means to bring about his end. Unfortunately, the king was now wary of his slave trying to eliminate himself. So in order to keep his prize alive he had the boy under constant surveillance.

Spencer banished the memories of his failed attempt from his mind and looked down at the rug underneath his feet. "I-I don't want you to take this the wrong way…but…while I do appreciate you being here for me…it-it just isn't enough."

Tobias sighed; deep down he knew that his friendship would never sufficiently fill the void in Reed's soul. He had watched as day by day the spark had left the young slave's eyes; his mind shutting off in an effort to protect him from this new world devoid of his lover. Before him stood just a hollow shell of a man and try as hard as he might, Tobias couldn't get even a hint of life to come back into those amber orbs.

The captive king shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the prince's silence. "I-I'm sorry…I-I –"

Tobias hushed his friend right before he enveloped the slave into a hug. He wrapped his arms around the kid's skinny body and squeezed him tightly. "Don't. I understand."

Their friendly embrace was broken up suddenly by the chamber doors thundering open.

King Charles had finally decided to retire after a long night of drinking and gaming. His walk was unsteady due to his fifth mug of ale and his pupils were blown wide open.

"What the fuck?" he grumbled at the sight of the two boys standing so closely together. "Are you trying to enjoy my prize, you worthless piece of shit?"

The prince winced at his father's cruel words and took a step back from the slave. "N-no, Y-Your Highness. W-we were just talking," he explained, bowing low to show his respect. Beside him, Spencer dropped to his knees and ducked his head, clasping his hands together and resting them on his lap.

Charles staggered forward and grabbed onto the back of one of the chairs to stabilize himself. He squinted his eyes as his pupils slowly adjusted to the bright firelight. "Eh…right. Just get the fuck out, boy. I have no need for you now…not that I ever do…"

Tobias knew better than to respond to the demeaning remark. He just bowed again and beat a hasty retreat toward the door.

The king didn't bother to watch as his son left the room. His eyes were already trained on his slave, drinking in his submissiveness.

"S-stand up, boy!"

Spencer quickly did as instructed but kept his head bowed.

"Get on the bed. Now."

Knowing that Charles would lash out at him if he didn't follow the instructions, the slave shuffled over to the massive bed and laid on his back. He closed his eyes tight and listened as the king lurched toward him.

The slave felt the bed dip beside him and firm fingers grasped his chin. "Open your eyes."

The boy cracked them open slowly and looked at the brocade canopy above him.

"Look at me," Charles ordered, tightening his grip.

Spencer trained his gaze on the monarch's smoldering eyes reluctantly.

The king smirked as he started unfastening the stays on his codpiece. "I've got a big surprise for you tomorrow."

The youth felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. Charles had never given him anything since he'd captured him.

The sovereign laughed at the boy's stunned look, "Ha. Surprised?"

Spencer tried to nod his head but the man's grip was preventing him.

"Well, there is a first time for everything. Bah – anyways, if I'm giving you a gift tomorrow than you've gotta show me your appreciation tonight," Charles informed him. The larger man moved his hand away from Spencer's pointy chin to the back of his neck. He used the new placement to push the boy up before guiding his head down toward his now exposed crotch.

* * *

The next morning started with the crow of the cock out in the courtyard at sunup. Spencer slowly opened his eyes and saw the early morning light painting the sky pink outside the window. He didn't bother trying to get up because Charles's arm was draped across his waist, pinning him in place.

Luckily, a knock at the door disrupted what could have been a long morning wait. The king grumbled out for whomever was on the other side to come in and released his slave from his embrace.

Spencer quickly scooted off the bed and made his way to the water closet, glad that the king's room had a private chamber in which he could relieve himself. When he finished his business and emerged from the room he found Charles already out of bed and giving orders.

"Eh – there you are boy. Get over here," he groused before turning to the head groomsmen. "I want us both in our finest today. Today we finally get to celebrate our ultimate victory over Quantico and I want to look my best."

The youth's head snapped up at the king's statement.

Charles laughed loudly at the slave's wide eyes, "I told you I had a gift for you. Didn't I?"

Spencer nodded.

"Well, today is the day that I declare myself King of Quantico. Or should I say Emperor? And my gift to you is the fact that you're going to get to watch as the last few soldiers from your pitiful former country come into my throne room and surrender. The contingent is on their way now. My men spotted them last night; a group of about twenty soldiers flying the Quantico flag at half-staff. Soon I'll be the most powerful man on the continent," he gloated gleefully as his servants scurried around to gather various parts of his outfit.

The captive king didn't have much time to process the information as an usher came over and grabbed his bicep, pulling him over to the wardrobe. "Stand there," the man ordered as he rummaged through the drawers, pulling out a few different lengths of colored cloth. He held them up high for the king to see and waited for the monarch to choose one.

"That one! The red one with the gold trim. That's the one I want him to wear. Get out his armbands and headband too. When you're done with all of that make sure to attach the golden leash. I'm showing off my prize today," Charles commanded before turning back to his men.

As the words finally permeated his brain, Spencer struggled to fight off a panic attack.

Would the soldiers recognize him? Would they blow his cover? What would happen if Charles found out who he really was? Would the king kill him or just force him to endure years of torture? If he killed him than he would be doing Spencer a favor, but knowing the spiteful man like he did now the slave knew he wouldn't get off that easy.

The young man's anxiety was written all over his face as he stood there getting prepped for the momentous occasion. And little did he or anyone else in the room know that today's events were the spark that was need to light the fire of change.

* * *

Spencer was settled on the floor beside the throne. He was sitting back on his heels with his loincloth spread out over his pale legs. The golden chain that was attached to his collar trailed up to Charles's right hand which was resting on the armrest of the throne. His wrists and ankles still had their golden bonds affixed to them, completing the king's favorite ensemble for his slave.

On Charles's left stood Raphael and Tobias, each one positioned on the steps leading up to the dais. Tobias was on the top step due to his princely rank which meant that Raphael was beneath him. They both stood ramrod straight, facing the doors through which the Quantico soldiers were soon enter.

The trumpets started blaring King Charles's signature tune, proclaiming to all that could hear that the monarch's moment of triumph was about to commence.

Charles sat a little straighter at the sound and he yanked on the leash three times. Spencer automatically looked up at the man, having learned over the course of six months what each type of tug meant.

"Are you ready to see your former kingdom officially dissolved before your very eyes?" Charles asked with delight.

Spencer frowned deeply, devastated that his homeland was about to be destroyed and all of its citizens would soon suffer under Charles's ironclad rule.

The doors at the front of the room rumbled open and a hush settled over the room. From his position on the throne the king called out to his "guests."

"Enter."

Cautiously five men dressed in Quantico's colors started walking down the cleared aisle. There were two men out front, followed by one man in the middle, and another two behind him. Spencer didn't recognize the two in the lead but that didn't mean anything since everyone in Quantico knew who he was. He then tried to move from side to side to see who was positioned behind them but Charles jerked his chain as a way to tell him to sit still.

The boy let out a frustrated breath of air and stilled his movements. He was just going to have to be patient.

Soon enough the march halted in front of the steps that led up to the king's platform and all the men bowed simultaneously. Though he couldn't see it, Spencer knew that Charles probably had a smug look on his face. When the soldiers stood erect once again the youth searched the expressions of the men in front and luckily he didn't see a flicker of recognition in their faces.

Were they really ignorant as to who he was? Had they just not looked too closely at him yet?

"State your business," Charles's voice boomed through the room.

"With pleasure," answered an all too familiar voice from the middle of the pack.

With his heart beating a mile a minute at the sound of his friend's voice, Spencer watched with agonizing anticipation as the soldiers in front stepped to the side and revealed the man standing behind them.

It was none other than Lord David Rossi.


	12. Surprise Revelation

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for reviewing, following, and favoriting.**

**Sorry for the delay but I wanted to finish Face Value so I could focus all my attention back on this story.**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"Lord Rossi!" Spencer shouted out in disbelief. "You're alive!"

The enslaved king couldn't believe his eyes. He was so shocked that he didn't even realize that he had jumped off the dais until he was jerked back by the chain attached to his collar. The sudden stop sent him crashing onto his butt on the hard polished stone floor. His fingers grabbed the golden links and tugged at them in an effort to get closer to his old friend.

"Get back here, boy!" roared Charles, trying to regain control over the headstrong slave. The maniacal monarch jerked hard on his end of the boy's leash, pulling the scantily clad young man back toward the throne.

Spencer fought against the backwards pull but months of malnourishment and little exercise caused him to quickly lose the battle.

"No! Let me go," the secret sovereign protested, reaching his hand out toward the man who was his father figure. He wanted to – needed to – touch him. He had to make sure he was real.

The next thing Spencer knew he was sprawled out on his back, looking up at the king's snarling visage. Charles looped the chain around his hand over and over, shortening the lead until there was no slack left. "Don't you ever tell me 'no,' boy! You are nothing. You are an inferior being put on this Earth merely for my entertainment. You will do as you are told or else you will suffer the consequences!"

Spencer nodded his head up and down while he tried to suck in some air between his clenched teeth.

Charles loosened his grip on the chain, "Now resume your position as your station dictates. And don't you dare make another sound or else."

The young man's brain wisely recognized that the king was not making an idle threat and spurred him into obeying the man's commands. He scrambled to his knees and resumed his earlier subservient pose, except this time he didn't bow his head. Instead he trained his gaze on Lord Rossi, desperate to maintain some sort of contact with his resurrected friend.

Unfortunately, Charles was sick of the slave's defiance. The vile king palmed the back of the boy's skull and pushed his head forward so that his chin was flush against his chest. "Head down," he growled before turning back to the surprise guest.

To his credit, Lord Rossi remained stone-faced as he watched the young man that he thought of like a son be dehumanized by the abhorrent monarch seated before him. He knew that Spencer's state would be dire but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. And never in a million years would he have pegged Charles for someone who enjoys the pleasure of male flesh, but before him was indisputable proof.

He cringed internally when Spencer's head was forced down but showed no outward sign. Deciding to take the attention off of the young king he cleared his throat and said with a bow, "Your Highness."

Charles immediately forgot about the boy and turned his focus back on the man he thought he had killed months ago. "Lord Rossi. This is quite the surprise."

A smug smile overcame the Italian's face as he savored the king's contempt for him like he would a fine wine. "I'm sure it is, Your Grace."

"Shouldn't you be dead?" he asked, straight to the point.

"Ha! You'd have thought it…right? I mean, I seriously thought you had done me in too…but it turns out my Italian blood must be stronger than we both thought…well that and you have poor aim. I do think it was probably because you stabbed me in the back instead of straight on like a proper gentleman," Rossi said, purposefully goading Charles.

The courtiers throughout the room tittered quietly at the older man's words, for no one had ever dared to insult the king to his face before now.

The king sputtered at Rossi's blatant disrespect. "Well that is a mistake that I'll have to rectify shortly."

"Perhaps…perhaps not…"

The sound of steel being pulled from its sheath could be heard ringing through the throne room. Charles stood up from the throne and raised his weapon threateningly, "You don't believe I'll do it?"

Rossi barely gave the sword a second glance before looking back at the monarch. "Oh, I know you wouldn't hesitate to kill me…but I know you aren't going to do it right now."

"And why is that?" Charles challenged the seemingly unflappable man.

"Because you have no idea how I survived and why I am here now. On top of that, you're dying to find out what in the world would have cause me to come to Georgia and stand in front of the man that killed my beloved and tried to murder me," Rossi explained knowledgably.

Spencer's hands were squeezing his thighs with all their might, worried that his friend was about to push the king too far. He longed to look up and to watch the battle of wills unfold but knew better than to tempt fate right now. With bated breath he and the rest of the audience waited to see how the king responded to Lord Rossi's rationalization.

Surprisingly, the ferocious sovereign started to laugh. He sheathed his sword and flopped back down on his throne. A malicious smile twisted his lips, revealing his rotting teeth. "By God, you're right, old man. You are right."

The closeted king let out the lungful of air he had been harboring; his friend was safe for now.

"So, get on with it. Tell me. Tell me everything," Charles demanded.

Rossi kept his brown eyes completely focused on the fanatical man and spoke his next words carefully. "Your Majesty, I am here by order of the king. He would like us to negotiate a truce and construct a contract that would join our two kingdoms together in the name of progress. He believes that with your wit for battle and his ability to plan, you two could conquer the whole continent."

The room was completely silent for a few moments as each and every individual was busy digesting the neighboring Lord's words.

Spencer, who had lifted his head when Rossi had mentioned 'the king,' looked at his friend in confusion. He couldn't fathom what had prompted the older lord to come here and lie to Charles about negotiating a truce. And there was no way he could keep up this ruse because Quantico's only king was sitting enslaved next to the Georgian ruler. How did the old man envision all of this playing out?

"The king? The king sent you to negotiate? Ha! First of all, I know for a fact that you have no grounds with which to parley to begin with. I took over your kingdom! My men are running all of Quantico in my name from the king's very own castle. Second, that coward of a Spencer Reid never once came out to meet me man to man. He ran away like a chicken from an axe. So even if you did have anything left that I could want I would never consider collaborating with that fucking child that King Derek left behind to rule in his stead," Charles said in a grandiose fashion.

The young king bowed his head downward once again, hiding his cheeks as they reddened in shame. He was a coward and his months of hiding behind the lie that his mother had concocted only proved it.

"Well, Your Grace, not everything is as it seems," Rossi declared.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

The older man cleared his throat, "Perhaps this is a conversation we should have in private, Your Highness."

"Stop stalling, Lord Rossi. Just spit out whatever it is you think I need to know," Charles commanded.

"As you wish, Your Highness," Rossi said with a hint of a smile. "The first thing that you need to know is that the men you left behind failed to maintain control over the castle and its subsequent lands. Our men seized back our dominion not too long after you left."

"Impossible," the king roared. "I have been receiving biweekly status updates from my own right hand man."

"Yes, I know you have. Trust me when I say that Sir Buford is easy to persuade. He really didn't put up too much of a fight when he was instructed to write out those letters word for word as the king or I dictated," Rossi explained with a smirk.

"You mean – "

"Exactly. You haven't had control of Quantico since you left. We've been sending you false missives while we rebuilt our forces and strengthened our fortifications."

"You lie!"

"We thought you might say that…so as proof I have brought along a few of the soldiers that we detained. I'm sure any one of them will be happy to corroborate my story…except I seemed to have left them back at camp. I'll be sure to bring them along the next time we meet."

"You smug son of a bitch," Charles roared. "There isn't going to be a next time because you won't be leaving here alive. I'm going to chop you and your men up into itty-bitty pieces and send them back to that spineless king with a letter of my own. Then, I'm going to gather the rest of my forces and march upon your precious castle once again. Except this time we will raze it down to the ground and kill anything that moves. And when I find King Spencer I will string him up by his neck and hang him from the tallest tree, leaving him to rot and decay while the buzzards pick at his remains. His putrefied corpse will serve as a reminder to the people of Quantico of what happens to anyone who dares to defy me! "

Rossi was unmoved by Charles's threat. Instead of blanching at the intimidating words he merely swept his hands out wide and said, "While you may get away with murdering me and my men, I doubt that King Derek will just roll over and let you usurp his country."

Spencer's head snapped up at Derek's name. His honey-browns went as wide as saucers as his mouth moved on its own volition, "He's alive? L-Lord Rossi, Der-King Derek is alive?" the heartbroken youth called out to his friend desperate for the man to confirm his lover's existence.

For the first time since he entered the room, Lord Rossi acknowledged Spencer. "Yes, kiddo. King Derek is alive and well."

Tears traitorously welled up in the corners of the slave's eyes. He was about to ask how it was possible when the king reached over and grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks in between his thumb and fingers.

"I thought I told you to shut up?"

Spencer struggled against the man's staunch grip. "I-I'm sorry, Y-Your Grace," he forced out as the king's digits dug into his skin.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be," Charles snarled, jabbing his fingernails into the white flesh until it yielded beneath them. "Raphael, get this whore out of my sight. Take him back to my chambers and make sure he understands the meaning of silence."

The quiet room watched as the king's infamous slave was hauled out of the room by Charles's brother. Rossi, who had struggled to remain silent while witnessing Spencer's abuse, just raised his eyebrows at Charles.

"Was the child that insufferable for the queen too?"

"The young man has always had an issue with knowing when to hold his tongue," Rossi said.

Charles grumbled an indiscernible response before addressing the epic news that the man before him had revealed. "So, King Derek is alive?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Apparently Sir Buford didn't stick around to make sure his hit was true." Rossi was dying to add that the knight, much like his monarch, must have shitty aim but he knew better than to push the crotchety king at this point.

Charles tented his fingers and furrowed his brow, "Lord Rossi, I will admit your revelation has intrigued me…so much so that I am willing to allow you to live for just a little bit longer."

"You are very gracious, My Lord," Rossi said with a hint of sarcasm.

Ignoring the other man's slightly mocking tone, the king continued, "I would like for you to go back to your camp and get my men. You will release them back to me and I will have them questioned. If they verify your claims than I would like to extend to you a dinner invitation. Together, over a flagon of wine and a suckling pig, you and I will discuss the finer details of King Derek's survival and his wishes to negotiate a truce. But, if even one of my men contradicts your account of these events than I will follow through on my earlier threats."

"Of course, Your Grace. I wouldn't have expected anything less from one as wise as yourself. Now if you will excuse my men and I, we will head back to camp and retrieve your men. Then I will personally escort them back here to the castle and await my fate – be it supper or execution," Rossi said with a courteous bow.

The old man did not wait to be dismissed; rather he stood back up and turned heel, walking out of the throne room without another word. He managed to keep his face impassive as he and his men made their way out of the palace.

Once they were safely away from the stone walls of the castle the Italian let out a giant whoosh of air. "This is going to be harder than we thought," he admitted aloud to no one in particular.

* * *

Raphael was merciless in his handling of the young slave. He had no qualms about dragging him by the leash through the halls and didn't care at all that the youth couldn't keep his feet underneath himself. By the time they had reached the king's bed chambers Spencer's legs were scraped raw from rubbing against the stone floor and he was struggling for breath due to the pressure on his throat.

Sprawled out on the floor gasping for breath, the young king knew he was about to endure a horrible punishment for disobeying Charles's order but he didn't care. His heart was about to burst with joy.

Derek was alive!

"What could you possibly be smiling about?" Raphael bellowed upon seeing a goofy grin curling slave's lips.

Spencer quickly wiped the smile off his face but couldn't make his heart stop singing with joy. "N-nothing, My Lord."

The formidable man towered above the captive and gave him a skeptical look. "I've never seen a prisoner excited about being punished before…"

The genius focused his eyes on the floor and tried to appear contrite.

Suddenly Raphael jerked on the leash and pulled Spencer up by his neck, "What are you hiding, whore?"

Spencer turned his head away from the infuriated man and pursed his lips together, refusing to divulge the secrets of his heart.

"Now is when you choose to stay quite?" The king's brother growled, furious that his intimidation tactic hadn't cowed the young man into speaking the truth. "Have it your way, slave. The king told me to teach you the meaning of silence, and teach you I will."

Raphael turned the lanky youth around and pushed him toward one of the pillars of the four poster bed. He forced Spencer to face the wooden support as he took the chain in between the boy's willowy wrists and attached it to a hook embedded in the post.

Raphael traced his calloused fingers down the slave's pale back, his digits caressing each scar disfiguring the kid's skin. "I doubt the king will be able to stand the sight of you when I'm through. Now keep your eyes forward and don't move a muscle."

A shiver flowed down Spencer's spine at the man's words. He squeezed his eyes shut and strained his ears in an effort to figure out what was happening behind him. The silence in the room was deafening as the captive king waited for his punishment to be doled out.

CRACK

The sound of the whip's snap hung in the air before a loud wail pierced the air.

"Now that's just the first of ten – but every time you even let out a whimper I will add another stroke to your punishment…which means we're starting back at one," Raphael proclaimed before pulling back his hand for the next strike.

CRACK

He tried. Oh, how he tried to keep his mouth closed and his shrieks of pain locked in his throat but the burning pain of whip's tail tore them past his lips.

Raphael sniggered, "Back to one again."

CRACK

"Oh, that one's going to scar," the knight taunted with glee as the young man before him broke down sobbing. "Now enough of this sniveling. We haven't even gotten beyond one yet!"

Spencer felt his legs give way beneath him with the next strike but somehow he managed to keep the whine that wanted to break free secured in his gut.

"That's it boy. Only nine more to go," laughed the loathsome man.

Another lick of the whip tore through is skin but this time Spencer's only reaction was a gasp for breath. The stinging torture was becoming too much for him so his fragile mind decided to protect itself. And so throughout the rest of his punishment the boy's brilliant brain pushed back the scream inducing pain and instead filled his mind with thoughts of reuniting with his beloved.

* * *

**Hmmm...so this story is funny because I seriously plan out what I want to write and then when I'm halfway through penning my ideas they decide to change. So, I am toying with a few ideas for the next chapter...either it's going to be Rossi and Charles having dinner or I'm going to skip ahead to Derek's arrival...heck, maybe my muse will fit in both along with a hurt/comfort scene with Tobias consoling Spencer after his punishment. I guess we'll have to wait and see.**

**Till then!**


	13. To Deceit

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**This chapter is kinda filler - you know, pushing the plot along...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Tobias gently dunked a strip of white cloth into the water basin he had perched on the rickety table next to the bed. He wrung it out before ever so carefully he ghosting it across the angry red welts and the oozing tears that littered the slave's abused back. By the time he pulled the rag back it was tinted red and needed another dip into the cool water before he could apply it to the next cut.

The prince sucked in a breath of air through his teeth as he tried to scrub away some dried blood on one particularly nasty wound. The lesion was long and deep, stretching from Reed's right shoulder down to his mid-back. It clearly needed to be tended to by one of the court physicians but Charles refused to bring one in, noting that the scar was well deserved and would remind the slave to do as he was told.

A soft moan of pain pulled Tobias out of his thoughts. He looked up toward the head of the bed and watched as his friend started to groggily blink his eyes.

Tobias scooted his body forward and dropped the rag into the water. He then laid his hand on the slave's exposed cheek before brushing his thumb along the boy's jawbone. "Shhhh," he whispered.

Another groan preceded a muffled, "D-Derek…it hurts."

The prince pulled his hand back from the young man's face in surprise.

"Derek, please…"

"Shhh, there's no Derek here," he hushed the boy gently. "It's just me, Tobias."

His words must have gotten through to the slave for the boy's brown eyes cracked open finally. "Tobias?"

"Yeah, Reed. It's me."

Spencer let out a whine of pain as he slammed his eyes shut, "It hurts…burns."

"I know…I know it hurts. Here, let me help," he suggested as he reached back into the basin and pulled out a few more pieces of cloth. He then spread out the linens across the boy's torn skin in hopes that the water would ease the burning for a few minutes. "There…how does that feel?"

"B-better," Reed stuttered, relishing in the cool touch of the cloth. "Thank you."

Tobias only gave his friend a sad smile in return.

"W-what time is it?" Spencer asked, trying to take his mind off of the pain.

The prince sat back on his heels on the hard stone floor. "It's late evening."

"I slept all day?"

Tobias shrugged, "I wouldn't call it sleeping. Uh-my uncle said that you passed out sometime around your fifteenth hit. You've been unconscious ever since."

"My wrists hurt…"

"I'm guessing that's because they were the only thing holding up your body after you blacked out. I-uh-I found you dangling from the hook on the bed post after your punishment was over. I couldn't let you hang there like that so I got you down and brought you in here," the prince explained.

Spencer's eyes left his friend's face and took in the room around him. He hadn't noticed until now that he wasn't in the king's bedchamber; rather, he was in a tiny room that had one door and two silted windows located up high on the wall. The chamber was so small that it could only accommodate the cot that the young man was currently resting on and a shoddy table that was close to collapsing.

"Where are we?"

"This was originally supposed to be your bedroom…that is…before my father decided to just have you sleep in his chambers," Tobias said, his face slightly flushing in embarrassment.

"Oh..."

"Yes…well…I thought this would be the best place for you to recover. And maybe he'll be so preoccupied with his guest tonight that you can sleep in here and not have to worry about upsetting your wounds before they have time to start healing."

"His guest…," Spencer repeated in an effort to refocus his mind on what had occurred earlier in the day. "Do you mean Lord Rossi?"

Tobias nodded.

"He-he was telling the truth? Your father's soldiers corroborated his story?" the youth asked earnestly as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Unfortunately, the pain radiating from his wounds was too much to endure. He arms almost instantly buckled underneath him, sending him back down onto the thin mattress.

"Stop! What are you doing? You've got to stay still," Tobias scolded his headstrong friend. "You are in no shape to even try to sit up tonight…you'll be lucky if you can even attempt it in the morning."

Spencer closed his eyes in defeat as a few whimpers of pain escaped his throat. "Please…is Lord Rossi still here?"

"Yes. The soldiers he brought with him all vouched that Lord Rossi was telling the truth. Why? What's so important about him?" Tobias implored.

"Please," Spencer panted through the agony assaulting him, "…please, I need to see him. Y-you have to help me."

"What?"

"Please, can you find a way for me to see him?"

"Why?" Tobias said warily.

"I-I just need to talk to him…I-I've got to ask him something," the slave stammered.

"I-I don't know. I-I don't think my father would approve," the prince said nervously, picking at his fingers in shame.

Spencer's sorrowful pools locked on Tobias. He tried to pour as much emotion as he could into his next word, "Please, Tobias. You're the only one that can help me."

"Why? Why is it so important that you speak to him?"

The young man could tell that his friend was about to break, so he said the one thing that he was sure would push the prince over the edge. "It's about my telescope."

* * *

Charles was chomping ravenously on the hind leg of suckling pig that was sitting on a silver platter in the center of the table. Oodles of grease dripped down his fingers and trailed down his forearm, ending in a pool of goo underneath his elbow. "Mmmh…Lord Rossi…do be a good fellow and pass me one of those apple tarts," the king said with his mouth full.

The Italian suppressed a grimace of disgust and handed the monarch his requested fare. "Your cooks are quite talented, Your Grace."

"Mmmh, that they are," he agreed, swallowing down his mouthful of meat with a swig of wine. "Did you try the meat pie?"

"Ah…no, Your Highness, by the time I noticed them I had already overindulged on that juicy pig there. But perhaps another time," Rossi said, patting his belly.

"You are missing out, old man. Tell me you at least have some room for dessert," Charles said as he forwent a fork and used his fingers to dig the tart out of its tin.

Rossi lifted his goblet full of red wine up high and said, "I think I'll let what I have in me settle for a while and go back for some later."

"Suit yourself," the king stated as he devoured his own sweet treat.

The apple pastry completely disappeared down the man's gullet in record time. When he was finished he lifted up his hands and snapped his fingers. Two servants hustled over to the table at the sound. One of them started to wipe off the grease and crumbs from the king's hands and fingers while the other poured more red wine from a flagon into his glass.

"Leave the drink and get out," he ordered with a wave of his hand. "I'll ring for you if I need anything."

After the two had silently bowed out of the room, Charles turned to his guest and declared, "Well I never thought I would see the day that you and I would sit down and have dinner together."

"Stranger things have happened, Your Grace."

"Yes, yes…but usually not to me," Charles grunted. "So, old man…you're king really wants to join forces?"

Rossi's eyes twinkled as he readied himself for what he believed would be a formidable battle of words. "That he does, Your Majesty."

The Georgian king let out a loud chuckle before he downed over half of his glass of wine. "I don't believe it."

"But your own men just attested to my honesty," the older man protested.

"I know. I know…but I just don't believe it. Why, after I ordered his death, killed his mother, ransacked his castle, and razed his whole country would that young twerp want to work with me?" he asked. "It doesn't make sense."

Rossi, who had been prepared for this very question, quickly supplied an answer. "I'll tell you why…he started listening to his elders."

"Who? You?"

"As a matter of fact…yes."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Charles rejoined with a sneer.

"Of course," David said nonchalantly. "You should feel much better knowing that someone older and wiser is directing his decisions. After you…ah…stormed the castle and made such a statement by murdering the queen mother and trying to off me, I knew you were a force to be reckoned with. While you may not have been successful in all of your endeavors, you did make quite an impression. After I had healed and saw the devastation that you had wrought throughout the land I convinced the king that we needed you. You, who had brought the great country of Quantico to its knees. You, the man that only needs to crook his finger in order to instill fear and awe into his foes."

Charles, preening under the other man's praise of his dastardly deeds, swallowed the bait. "And to what ends do you think you need me?"

"Well, to take out the rest of our enemies of course…yours and ours. And right now both of our countries are vulnerable to attack due to the loss of troops we sustained from fighting each other," Rossi stated straightforwardly.

"Hmmm…but it won't take me long to rebuild my army and my lands are already well defended. So really, while Derek may need me to help him protect his country, _why_ do _I_ need him?" Charles asked shrewdly.

"Excellent question, Your Grace. And let me start with the fact that it's not so much Derek that needs you but me. Because you see, I now have that naïve young king so wrapped around my fingers that he cannot see the strings attached to them. He is my puppet. The boy thinks he is making all the moves and coming up with all the ideas but really…it is I," Rossi elucidated, raising his eyebrow in a conspiratorial manner.

The king threw back the last of his wine and refilled his glass. He gave his opponent half a smile and rephrased his question, "Alright, why would I need you, Lord Rossi?"

"Because through me you will finally get what you want."

"And what is that?"

"Quantico."

"Ha! All I have to do is just redouble my efforts and I could take back that measly kingdom all over again," Charles bragged.

Rossi took a sip of his wine before he answered, "True. But with me you wouldn't have to lose a single soldier or lift a single finger. I could deliver it to you on a platter…a golden platter."

"What's the catch?"

Grinning, Rossi tented his fingers and said, "All I ask in return is for a place of favor in your court, a manor of my own, a generous yearly stipend and servants to wait on me hand and foot."

"That's all?"

"When it comes down to it, I'm a simple man. I just want to live a life of luxury and want for nothing. I have no desire to lead a troop of men or get caught up in the intrigues of court. In the end, I just want to live out my remaining years drowning in fine wine and honey with a lovely lady or two at my side," Rossi described.

"My my, you moved on from Diana awful quick," Charles remarked smugly.

Dave chuckled, "She was just a means to an end. I just made her believe that I was in love with her and she showered me with gifts." A twinge of guilt flickered in Rossi's eyes as he uttered those false words to the king. He silently said a mental prayer to deceased lover asking her to forgive him for his harsh lies.

"Ah yes…women are so easy to fool. That is why they are the lesser of our species."

"Quite right," Rossi agreed.

Charles took another draught of wine and cleared his throat, "So, that's all you want? A comfortable life in exchange for helping me secure a whole kingdom? It seems too good to be true."

"Well, there is one more thing…"

"Go on."

"I see that you confiscated the queen mother's personal slave."

"That I did…and I couldn't be more pleased with him. He's so young and supple. His ass is ripe for fondling while his hips cry out to be penetrated at the same time. He has a sensuousness about him that I've never seen before," Charles gloated, his eyes hooded as he pictured the youth. "He's my most prized possession."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Your Majesty. Something about the boy just makes you want to rip his clothes off to see what's underneath," Rossi concurred.

"Ha! I must admit that undressing him is my favorite part," Charles laughed louder than normal; the wine finally starting to impair his senses.

"Would you be open to allowing me some alone time with him?" Rossi asked cautiously, knowing that this might be his only chance to secure a meeting with Spencer. "I would love to relive a few moments that I shared with him right under Diana's nose."

"Eh? You want – you want to enjoy yourself with my slave?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

The king growled and threw his empty goblet to the floor. He stood up from his chair and threw his hands down on the table before leaning over and putting his face right in front of Lord Rossi's. "I don't share," he hissed.

Dave held up his hands in surrender. "O-of course not, Your Grace. It was just a thought. I understand completely," he said gently in an effort to placate the king.

With a huff, Charles flopped back down in his chair, "Good. Now be a good man and fetch me another glass. I've more wine to drink before this night is through…and you Lord Rossi are going to sit with me while we plan out how to pull the rug out from under King Derek's arse."

Knowing that the subject of Spencer was officially off the table now, Rossi did as he was bidden and grabbed another glass from the table. He filled the king's cup to the brim and handed it to him. He then replenished his own goblet and raised it high. "A toast, Your Highness."

The king unsteadily mimicked the Italian's gesture, "A toast."

Dave licked his lips, "To deceit."

"Here, here - to deceit," Charles added.

"Salute!" Rossi called out before the two men clinked their glasses together and took a simultaneous drink.

And with the king's next statement, Dave knew he had successfully hooked the greedy sovereign. "Let's get started."

* * *

Surprisingly enough, Charles was so preoccupied with plotting Derek's demise with Lord Rossi that he didn't have time to enjoy Spencer over the last couple of nights. So, the young man took the time he was given to heal, staying mostly in bed and allowing Tobias to tend to him. It turned out that the prince was a very good caretaker. He brought his friend food and water, helped him up to use the restroom, and constantly checked on the slowly mending wounds.

Of course, his respite from Charles couldn't go on forever. The king had preparations to put into place before his rival king arrived and Spencer had a part in them. That was why Raphael found himself stalking down the castle hallway on his way to the slave's quarter.

He had just left his nephew's empty chambers where he had been told Tobias had not slept for the last few nights. Growling under his breath, the king's brother didn't need to guess where the prince had been spending his time.

When he reached the splintered wooden door he didn't bother knocking; rather he grasped the knob and turned it in fury. The door swung open before him and smacked into the brick wall. "What is the meaning of this?" he shouted at the sight that greeted him. The slave was sprawled out on his stomach on the only cot in the room while Tobias was seated on the floor with his head propped up against the bed.

The two young men jump at the noise that roused them from their sleep.

"Why is the goddamn prince of Georgia sleeping on the stone floor of this wretched slave's room?"

Tobias immediately stood up and brushed himself off. He looked over to his uncle and said warily, "I-I must have fallen asleep after tending to his wounds."

Raphael rolled his eyes, "You are a disgrace, boy. I fear for the day that you take over the crown…sleeping with filth such as this. And you, slave, why are you not bowing before me? Have you forgotten your place?"

"N-n-no, Sir," Spencer stuttered as he tried to push up off of the cot on his own. The act caused him much pain but a few minutes later he was on his knees before the knight, his injured back on full display.

"Now that's a lovely sight to see," Raphael smirked, turning to Tobias. "You see those scars? Those will be permanent. This fool will never forget the consequence of speaking out of turn. Will you slave?"

"N-no, sir."

The prince, clearly uncomfortable with the knight's glee, tried to change the subject. "Was there something you needed, uncle?"

Raphael had to tear his eyes away from his handiwork before he could answer, "Huh? Oh yes…your father is expecting the Quantico delegation to come within the next two weeks. He wants you to go to the tailor and get fitted for a new outfit – one becoming of a prince."

"I will at once," Tobias answered, hoping that his uncle would leave.

"That's not all. You need to take this whore down to the smithy for a fitting too."

"A fitting?"

"Yes, boy – a fitting. Did I stutter?"

"No…but I don't understand. Shouldn't the tailor be fashioning his clothing too?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, boy. Just do as you are told," Raphael scolded. "The king is expecting you to take care of all of this today. So I would get moving," he ordered. "Oh and Tobias –"

"Yes, uncle."

"I'll be informing your father of your sleeping arrangements," the knight announced before leaving.

Tobias's face paled at the implication of his uncle's words. "Shit," he murmured, knowing that the king wasn't going to be happy with him.

Hesitantly, Spencer sat up from his bow and looked up at his friend. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Tobias said. "Here, let me help you up."

Together they got the slave up off the floor with minimal pain. "I guess we've got a busy day ahead of us."

"Yeah…," Spencer agreed in a small voice.

"What? What is it?"

The secret sovereign's hand found its way up to his collar and said, "The last time I was taken to the blacksmith King William had this fused around my neck."

Realization dawned on Tobias's face, "I-I'm sure my father isn't planning something like that. Besides, Raphael said you were to be fitted by the smithy. So whatever it is, it isn't getting…uh…attached today."

The slave didn't say anything, his worries about what awaited him the blacksmith's tent were causing his stomach to revolt regardless of what his friend had to say.

"How is your back?"

"It doesn't like all this movement, but I guess that doesn't really matter anymore," Spencer said, knowing that his days of rest were over.

"Well…uh…we had better get going. If father wants us both fitted today we can't waste time. The royal tailors always take forever with their fittings and I'm not sure how long the smith will take with you," Tobias explained, giving his friend a weak smile.

"Then perhaps I could be of some service," came a smooth voice from the hallway.

Both boy's looked toward the doorway at the sound, surprised to find Lord Rossi casually standing in the frame.

"Oh, uh…Lord Rossi. I couldn't ask that of you."

"Nonsense, Your Grace. I'm quite bored here waiting on my king to arrive. I would love a good excuse to walk around the grounds and explore a bit. And since I haven't been down to the armory as of yet, this is the perfect opportunity," Rossi said slickly.

"I-uh-I don't know…"

"What could be the harm in letting me help? Your father and I are on good terms and I'm sure he won't care as long as his orders fulfilled."

Tobias looked back and forth between Lord Rossi and his friend. Honestly, he knew that his father would be livid if he found out that Lord Rossi spent some alone time with Reed…but he also knew he owed this to his friend. Anyways, he was already going to get in trouble for sleeping in Reed's chambers, so what was the harm of committing another infraction? "Okay," he consented.

"Excellent!" Rossi gushed. "I'll take it from here, Your Highness. You go to your fitting and we'll go to ours. I'll bring the boy straight back here when we're done."

"Alright, I'll see you later then," Tobias said, giving Reed one last look before exiting the room.

Once the prince was gone, Rossi reached out and grabbed the door. He quickly shut it tight and wedged his dagger into the crack, ensuring that no one could open it without excessive force. He then turned to the tortured boy next to him and held out his arms. Immediately, the youth grabbed the front of Dave's doublet and buried his head in the crook of the man's neck. Dave laid his cheek on the crown of the boy's head and cooed softly at him while Spencer release the sobs that had been locked up inside of him for months.


	14. A Long Way to Go

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**LN: Thank you so much for your faithful reviews! I'm so glad you are enjoying the story!**

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* * *

Rossi slowly shuffled the sobbing young man over to the rickety cot and sat down with him. He then wrapped his arms around the youth and quietly rocked him. They sat like that for over ten minutes until the boy's sobs turned into random whimpers and sniffles.

Dave felt the death grip that Spencer had on his doublet weaken and took that as a sign that the boy was ready to talk. He gently seized the kid's biceps and pushed him into an upright position. When the genius was steady the older man removed one hand and used it to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket. He pressed the cloth into his friend's hands and watched as the boy wiped his face.

"Thank you," Spencer whispered before he blew his nose into the fabric.

"Anytime," Rossi responded. He reached a hand up and cupped the side of the young man's face in his hand. "I'd ask how you are holding up but I think it's obvious."

The captive king forced a wry smile at his mentor's comment. "I've seen better days," was all he could think of to say.

"Of that, I'm sure," he said, dropping his hand down to his lap.

A small whine escape Spencer's throat at the loss of the familiar man's contact.

Upon hearing his reaction, Dave reached out and clasped Spencer's hands tightly in his own.

The secret sovereign looked down at the gnarled fingers that were interwoven with his own. He used his thumbs to massage the older man's wrinkled skin in an effort to smooth it out. "H-how are you here? I-I saw him k-kill you."

Rossi smiled, "I'm tougher than I look."

"And Derek?"

"He's really alive and well, kiddo. And anxious to see you, I might add."

Spencer wanted to celebrate over Rossi's words but another question pushed past his lips before he could. "How about my mom?" he asked with anticipation, hoping against hope that she too somehow miraculously survived.

Dave's smile vanished almost instantly as tears welled up in his squinted eyes. "I'm sorry, Spencer. She never had a chance."

The youth nodded his head almost imperceptibly and allowed his own sorrow to drip down his cheeks. "I-I figured…I-I was just hoping that maybe…maybe she -"

Rossi didn't allow him to finish his sentence; instead the older man wrapped his arms around the kid's boney body again and squeezed him tight.

Surprised and unprepared for the man's embrace, Spencer let out a squeak of pain as Rossi's hands accidently upset his wounds.

Dave pulled back and gave the youth a concerned look. "Are you alright?"

Spencer wiped his eyes and pushed back the grief he was feeling over the loss of his mother. "It's ah…it's just the cuts on my back. They're still healing."

"Cuts on your back?" Rossi inquired before he stood up and tried to peer over the king's shoulder.

Spencer shifted in an effort to deter the man. "It's nothing…they're nothing…a-actually they've started to heal nicely."

"The fact that you're trying to downplay them tells me that they're not nothing," the older man said with a scolding tone.

Knowing that he wasn't going to win this fight, Spencer leaned forward and allowed his father-figure to examine his back.

Rossi hissed in anger the second he laid eyes on the crisscrossing slashes littering the boy's pale skin. "They whipped you?" he asked with a hint of fury behind his words as he sat back down on the cot.

"Yes," Spencer said meekly, refusing to meet Dave's eyes.

"Why?"

The boy picked at the skin around his fingernails. "I-it was my punishment for talking to you when the king told me not to," he nearly whispered, afraid that his friend would feel guilty for the abuse he brought on himself the other day.

"So this is why I haven't seen you since then? You've been recovering?"

"Yes."

"That bastard!" Dave roared, shooting up from his sitting position and reaching for the doorknob.

A gentle hand landed on Rossi's arm and squeezed it urgently. "Lord Rossi, stop! Please…you can't do anything about it now and…and you can't blow your cover over something so trivial."

The Italian allowed his eyes to wander down to the slim fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm. He saw the bits of blood tinging the nailbed of the kid's fingers. His gaze continued down past the bleeding phalanges to the wiry wrist that was enveloped by a golden manacle. Rossi closed his eyes slowly and took in a few deep breaths, forcing down the anger that had boiled to the surface. The boy was right; if he flew off the handle now he'd expose them both and jeopardize their lives.

Dave gnashed his teeth together before forcing out, "Fine. I'll leave it for now. But that bastardo is going to pay for how he's treated you! And just wait until Derek finds out…"

Spencer's hand fell away from his friends. "I-is he really going to be here soon?"

"He's on his way now," Rossi said, looking down at son with a smile. "He's excited to see you."

"I-I can't wait to see him too," he said, glancing away with a blush. His eyes fell onto the golden chain linking his two hands together and realized that he wouldn't even be able to get near Derek when he did arrive. Charles had him on a short leash and wasn't about to let him go. His happy reunion with his husband would have to wait until he was freed from captivity. "Uh…how are you guys – how are we – how am I…" the slave trailed off, feeling slightly helpless and useless by the fact that he needed to be rescued.

"Going to escape?" Rossi finished for him.

The genius just nodded; his shame at the situation was keeping his tongue quiet.

"Well, I'm not going to go into too much detail because the less you know the better."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Spencer thought about it for a moment. "Because even the smallest change in my behavior may alert King Charles that something is wrong."

"Exactly, kiddo. All you need to know is that we do have a plan and that it's already underway. Now, I'm assuming that I'll be seeing more of you over the next couple of weeks. You are going to hear and see me acting funny. Just understand that everything that I say and do is all part of the plan," Rossi explained.

"I understand," Spencer said.

"Good, because the type of man I have to be around Charles is quite deplorable," Dave said with a shudder before glancing up toward one of the narrow windows. "Looks like the morning is getting away from us. We need to get going. Are you okay to walk?"

Spencer stood up slowly, "It still hurts but I don't have much of a choice. It's not like you can carry me down to the armory."

"We'll go slowly," Rossi assured him as he pulled his knife from the doorjamb.

"Thanks…for everything," the boy said softly.

"Don't thank me yet…we've got a long way to go."

* * *

The blacksmith's tents weren't very far from the castle but the journey felt like hours to the injured king. Each step he took upset his wounds, pulling on the tender flesh that was fighting to heal. Spencer never once let on that he was in pain, having learned a long time ago how to keep it hidden.

The young man started to shiver as the sound of metal being forged with a hammer assaulted his ears. He halted his steps a few yards away from the smithy as the memories of his last experience inside a similar tent started to spring forth inside his mind.

Rossi was a few steps away before he realized his charge wasn't with him anymore. He turned around and saw the panic-stricken look on his son's face. "You can do this. I'll be right with you the whole time."

Spencer let out a sardonic little laugh. "Yeah…so was Lord Gideon last time…and I still came away with this," he said, gesturing to his collar.

Dave walked back over to the youth and said in a soothing voice, "I'm not Jason and I promise you that I won't let anything like that happen to you again."

"You can't guarantee that. If the king ordered – "

"The king's not here and by now you should know that I have a way with words. I'll figure something out. Trust me," he assured. "Now let's get this over with."

"Alright," he said reluctantly and started shuffling forth once again.

The tent flaps were pulled back and tied to the posts, allowing the cool morning air to waft into the workspace. Like the last time, the blacksmith was positioned over an anvil walloping his hammer down on a piece of steel, forming it into a sword. The hulking man glanced up from his work briefly but said nothing to the two intruders. He continued to pound away for a few more minutes before he picked up the iron hilt and dipped the metal into water to cool. A cloud of steam burst upward from the liquid at the same time as a hissing sound emanated throughout the tent.

The blacksmith pulled the sword out of its bath and set it back on the anvil. He then propped his hammer up and turned toward the men. "What can I do for today, m'lord?" he ask Rossi, purposefully ignoring the slave.

"I'm here on King Charles's orders. I was told to bring his newest toy down here to you for a fitting," Dave said without missing a beat.

The muscular man grunted, "Yeah, I got a letter yesterday with my instructions. But I thought the prince was supposed to bring him down."

"There was a change in plans. That fucking pansy woke up late and figured he couldn't get to his own fitting and this one before noon…so, guess who got stuck with the job?"

"Heh, pansy…that's one of the nicer words I've heard him called. It's amazing to me that someone as hard-assed as King Charles could have such a wimp for a son," the man commented. "Alright then…bring the whore over here."

Rossi directed Spencer over to a spot near the smith's tool bench. "So, what is the kid down here for today?"

"A fitting," he stated as he rifled through his a drawer.

Rossi made an exasperated face, "I know that. What's he getting fitted for?"

"Nosey, ain't cha, m'lord?" the smith said, turning around with a measuring tape.

Instead of rising to the insult, Dave shrugged it off. "Eh…just wondering what a slave would need hand-crafted just for him."

The blacksmith grinned, "Well we both know that this isn't just any slave to King Charles." The man kicked apart Spencer's legs and took his arms and positioned them so that they were parallel to the ground. He then wrapped the measuring device around the kid's waist, chest, upper thighs, and biceps. While he was writing down the boy's sizes on a piece of parchment paper he told the two of them, "The king designed a new outfit that he wants the boy to wear for King Derek's arrival. It's made completely out of gold – golden chainmail to be exact. He even commissioned a headpiece to go along with it."

"Interesting…could I see the design?"

"No. The king said it was for my eyes only. He wants it to be a surprise…for everyone," the smithy said, shooting Rossi down.

"I see. So are we done then?"

"Not quite. I need to get his head measurements," the man said, turning back to the young man and wrapping the tape measure around his skull in multiple places. He then turned and grabbed a flat thin piece of metal and said, "Open wide."

Spencer scrunched his brow but did as he was told. The tradesman stuck the rod into his mouth slowly and pulled it back when the boy gagged. He did it again, but this time stopped right before the kid's reflexes kicked in. "Alright, I'm all done."

"What was that last measurement for?" Rossi asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry, you'll just have to wait and see," the man said mysteriously before turning his back on the two.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get any more information from the man, Dave said, "Come on, boy. Let's get a move on. I have things to do today."

The genius didn't have to be told twice. He made a beeline for the exit. Once he got outside of the stifling tent he leaned over and put his hands on his knees, inhaling the fresh air. Moments later he felt the ghosting of fingers along his neckline and murmured, "Just give me a second."

"No problem, kiddo," Rossi said in a low voice. "That was pretty intense."

Spencer nodded his agreement, "Yeah…and I can only imagine what Charles has concocted."

"Me too," the mentor said warily before changing the subject. "Hey, that didn't take as long as I thought it would. What do you say to a quick walk through the gardens…if your back is holding up, that is?"

"I-I'd like that," the young man said, standing erect once again.

"And your back?"

"It's not too bad."

Rossi gave the boy a skeptical look.

"Really, I'll be fine. And it's been so long since I've been allowed outside..."

"Well then let's make the most of it," Rossi suggested, letting the subject of the kid's pain drop.

The older man led the way, making Spencer walk behind him as was proper for his station. But once the two of them disappeared into the hedge maze they resumed walking side by side.

They exchanged few words as they admired the greenery around them. Rather, they kept their pace slow and enjoyed the brief respite from the hustle and bustle of the busy court.

At the center of the hedge maze was a lovely little courtyard with a white gazebo and bench seating. A little pond encircled the quaint shelter, forcing the visitors to cross a little wooden bridge to access it. Once they walked over the water the two men sat down across from each other and admired the view.

Rossi allowed let the young man relax for a few minutes before breaking the peace. "We'll have to get going soon...," he started, quickly registering the small frown that tugged at Spencer's lips, "but before we do, I have something for you."

A curious look spread across the kid's face, dispelling the scowl he had worn just moments ago. "You do?"

Rossi didn't say anything else; instead he reached a hand into his doublet and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it over to the genius and said, "I think I'll go take a closer look at those roses. I want to see if any of them have a perfect spiral."

Spencer didn't even listen to Dave's excuse as he unfolded the parchment. His hands were shaking again as he opened it up and found a letter from his beloved penned inside.

_My Dearest Starshine,_

_I cannot find the words to express how much I miss you and the ache I feel deep in my heart as I long to hold you again. I cannot believe that fortune's wheel has decided to separate us in such a cruel manner. I'm not sure what we may have done to deserve this horrible punishment but I must assure you that we will both endure. And when we meet again it will be that much sweeter._

_And we will._

_We will see each other again._

_By the time you read this letter I'll probably already be on my way._

_And I'm sorry that you had to wait so long for me to come. I promise you that it was necessary._

_Oh my love, I cannot wait to see those expressive eyes of yours once again. The only thing getting me through right now is picturing how perfect you looked the morning that I left – laid out on the bed, a beautiful blush coloring your cheeks, your hair all disheveled after our morning escapades and your lips slightly swollen after our frantic kissing. _

_God, I never pictured a time in my life when you wouldn't be in it. It's funny because I think this separation is slowly driving me insane. Sometimes I just see you standing by the fire or I imagine that your body is hiding underneath our sheets. But alas, it's just a ghost of a memory…_

_Soon though, soon, I will not have to rely upon that ghost to bring me comfort. Soon I will wrap you in my embrace and I swear to you that I will never let go._

_So whatever has happened since we last parted - whatever you've had to endure - know that it is almost over and we will take comfort in one another's arms again._

_Until then remember that you are never alone. I have been with you all along as you have been with me. _

_I am following your light and I will bring you home._

_\- Your Faithful Telescope_

Spencer read the letter three times regardless of the fact that he had it committed to memory after the first time. When he had finished the final read through he squeezed it in his hand and clutched it to his chest in the hopes of imbuing the words into his heart.

Out of nowhere, a forced cough disrupted his actions. "Spencer, we're going to have to get going before you are missed."

The young king grimaced but nodded in agreement.

"And I hate to do this but I think it would be best if I held onto that letter for you," Rossi kindly suggested.

Spencer's honeyed eyes dulled at his mentor's words, "I know…b-but do you think maybe I could write him a letter back?"

Dave shook his head, "It wouldn't be safe. Everything I send out to Derek is inspected by King Charles's men. They'd report it to him immediately."

"That's what I thought," he said forlornly.

"But perhaps I could weasel something inconspicuous into a missive for you…"

The young man perked up at the older man's idea. "Would you?"

"Of course."

Rossi watched as Spencer's eyes got a faraway look in them. He could tell the wheels were turning in the kid's brain, trying to churn out something that only the two kings would understand.

After a few minutes of silence, Spencer spoke quietly, "T-tell him that while his star seems dim for now it will surely shine brightly again in the future."

* * *

**Ah...finally Derek's arrival will be in the next chapter and we can get this rescue really underway!**

**Till then!**


	15. Greensleeves

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks so much for your reviews! **

**This chapter is completely from Derek's point of view.**

**The song mentioned at the end, "Greensleeves," is a real composition supposedly composed by Henry VIII for Anne Boleyn (never proven). It is kinda fitting because it's the tale of unrequited love...but if you really read the words it's incredibly sad because the man singing the song has ultimately been rejected by the one he loves. Anyways, why the history lesson? I just wanted to mention that I know that the song deep down is sad and that our two lover's might not have chosen it to represent their love...but hey, I love the melody and if you've never heard it I encourage you to Google it and listen to it.**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Derek pulled the reins on his horse, Thunderhead, right in front of the rusty iron portcullis. He peered up at the daunting barrier and shook his head. "You'd have thought they'd have already retracted this monstrosity," he muttered under his breath.

On the other side of the gate Charles's men were scurrying around trying to get everyone in position to lift the massive barrier. None of them bothered to ask Derek who he was; the banners waving with his sigil provided enough identification.

Two more horses whinnied to a stop on either side of him. On his right was Sir Hotchner and to his left was the Lady Penelope.

"How long do you think it will take them to raise that?" Penelope asked.

"Depends on how many men they have manning the wheel," Derek told her.

Sir Hotchner frowned, "What do you suppose is the point of making us wait? I'm sure they saw our flags waving miles away. They could have had this up before we arrived."

"The only thing I can think of is that Charles wanted more time to ready himself for our arrival," Derek said before he sighed impatiently.

Penelope looked over that the annoyed monarch and said, "Maybe it's not a bad thing that we have to wait."

Derek turned to her and gave her an incredulous look.

She shrugged, "I think that you need to use these last few minutes to get your head straight."

"My head is just fine," he said with a bitter note to his words.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

She hummed her disagreement.

"Why do you think otherwise?" he asked, a little peeved at her behavior.

"Because we are about to cross into enemy territory and anyone worth their salt would be nervous…but you…your situation is unique. Your lover's life is at stake…the pressure on you to make sure this turns out well is immense. So, are you sure you're mentally prepared for this?" Hotchner asked, saving Penelope from having to continue the unpleasant line of questioning she started.

Still feigning ignorance, Derek replied, "Mentally prepared for what?"

The knight gave his king and friend a skeptical look. "You know what."

"Do I?"

Hotchner huffed a breath of air before he laid it all out on the line. "Alright, I'm asking if you're mentally prepared to see the love of your life being debased and degraded right before your eyes. I'm asking whether or not you're going to be able to keep your wits about you and act like nothing is wrong," he stated bluntly. "Because what you're about to witness being done to Spencer is going to test your strength and mental reserves – actually it's going to test all of ours – and it's not going to be easy."

Derek listened to his friend's solemn words intently. He didn't answer right away; the knight feared he wasn't going to answer at all. But as the iron gate started to rise up inch-by-inch the king finally decided to respond, "I know…I know that it's not going to be easy…and I'm ready. I have to be. This is our one and only chance to bring him home safely and I'm not going to mess it up."

The knight said nothing in return, just nodded his head in agreement.

Penelope reached over and laid her hand gently on the young king's arm. She gave him a sympathetic smile and said, "We're going to get him back, Derek. We will!"

Derek placed his hand over hers and squeezed it tightly. "I know."

A resounding clank echoed in the air, signaling that the portcullis had been raised as high as it would go. Thunderhead nickered impatiently beneath his owner, eager to move forward. So, the monarch dug his heels into the horse's sides and clicked his tongue, signaling his mount to move ahead slowly. His friends and the few soldiers he had brought along stayed a few paces behind him allowing him to take the lead.

The king sat ramrod straight in his saddle and clutched the sword sheathed at his side. The courtiers that were outside to witness his arrival were impressed with how regal he looked and the superior attitude he exuded. They whispered among themselves about how a man so young could hold so much power.

As Derek's horse approached the entrance to the castle he saw King Charles standing at the top the steps with his son and brother positioned beneath him. All three of the men were bedecked red doublets that had golden accents woven throughout. Charles, though, stood out the most due to the inordinate amount of jewels he was wearing all over his body.

The king allowed his eyes to momentarily wander away from the royalty standing before him, looking earnestly for his beloved. A twinge of concern nudged at the corner of his mind when he did not see his lithe lover anywhere.

Unfortunately, he had to tuck his worries away in the back of his mind when Thunderhead smoothly halted at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the castle. Derek waited silently for the rest of his party to stop behind him before he dismounted his steed and walked up to the first stair.

"Charles," was the only word he said as he gave a small nod. A gasp of surprise rippled through Charles's courtiers when they heard Derek's informal greeting but the young king thought nothing of it. For Derek was not about to bow and show fealty to Charles. They were both kings in their own right – neither one technically outranked the other – and to fully bow down and use a proper title to address Charles would have sent the wrong message to all of those witnessing the occasion.

The other king took Derek's lack of respect in stride externally while he burned with rage on the inside. But instead of letting the anger out he nodded his head in return, "Derek, welcome to Georgia."

"Thank you," he said politely as the two men stood there sizing each other up. "Shall we get to it?"

"Absolutely not! You must be bone weary after your lengthy journey. What type of host would I be if I swept you away and forced your to talk politics without allowing a chance to rest?" Charles chided.

"That's really not necessary," Derek protested, though he was feeling a bit tired and grimy after being on the road for the last few weeks.

"Nonsense. Your room is set up and there is already a warm bath waiting for you. Please, it is nearing supper time and I made it a rule to never discuss political affairs on an empty stomach," the Georgian King stated.

Derek went to object again when he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Come now, King Derek. Indulge the good man and take his generous offer. I assure you that you won't be disappointed," Rossi declared with a big smile on his face.

"Lord Rossi!" the king exclaimed, happy to see his dear friend after so long.

"It's great to see you too, my liege," Rossi said, opening his arms in order to receive Derek in a hug.

The Quantico monarch quickly embraced the older man before pulling back and saying, "How are you doing, old friend?"

A cough disrupted their happy reunion, "I hate to interrupt but will you be taking me up on my offer, Derek?"

The young king looked at his friend and saw Rossi nod his head in encouragement. "Alright, Charles. I would be happy to freshen up. Thank you for offering."

"Excellent!" Charles exclaimed. "I'll let Lord Rossi lead you to your chambers. After spending the last month here, he more than knows his way around."

"It would be my pleasure," Rossi agreed.

"And after you've washed away the dust from the road, please, come down and join us for supper. My cooks have been preparing a great feast to celebrate your arrival. We'll eat, drink and dance the night away as we honor what is hopefully the first of many meetings of between our two great kingdoms," Charles announced with a grandiose voice.

* * *

"May I present your chambers, Your Highness," Rossi said respectfully as he pushed open the doors to the rooms that Charles had prepared for Derek.

"Thank you, Lord Ross," Derek said graciously.

The king and his friends walked into the lavish receiving room and looked around in wonder.

"King Charles has expensive taste," Lady Penelope said, her eyes wide as she took it all in.

Rossi closed the doors and locked them. He then turned to his awestruck friends and said, "Don't be too impressed. Charles just sunk a ton of money he doesn't have into decorating these rooms in order to impress you."

Derek looked at the older man and raised an eyebrow, "Seriously?"

"Yes. He seems to think that you'll be easier to fool if you are swayed by all of his supposed coin," Rossi shared. "And just wait until you see what he has planned for supper…"

"Extravagant, I'm sure," Sir Hotchner said wryly.

Rossi laughed, "That's an understatement."

Derek's eyes wandered over to the closed doors before they turned back to Rossi, "Is he alright?"

David held up his hand and looked around, "That's a hard question to answer, King Derek…because as they say…even the walls have ears."

Sir Hotchner raised an eyebrow and walked over to one of the tapestries that was hanging on the wall and peeked behind it. He immediately spotted a few small boreholes carved into the stone; ones that were large enough to allow someone to listen in on any conversations that were being spoken in the receiving room. Aaron let the drapery fall back into place and held a finger up to his mouth.

"Your Grace, why don't you retreat into the washroom and take advantage of the bath that King Charles had drawn for you?" Rossi suggested, wisely. "You'll be astounded by the size of the tub."

Derek nodded his understanding, "That's a great idea. I feel like there must be five layers of dirt caked on my skin."

"Sounds like a plan to me," chirped Penelope.

"You, my dear, need to park your cute behind on that cushioned seat by the fire and enjoy some sweet treats while I clean myself up," the king said with a grin.

She crossed her hands in front of her and pouted. "No fair."

"Now, Lady Penelope, you know my husband would never approve –"

"Oh pish-posh…what he doesn't know…but fine. I'll stay here."

Derek smiled sweetly and said, "Thank you, sweetheart," before he followed David to another set of doors.

Sir Hotchner shadowed his king to the washroom. Once he reached the doors he turned and said to his fellow knight, Sir Kassmeyer, "Keep watch out here."

The knight did not question the other man's orders and just nodded his head. Aaron then smiled at Lady Penelope before closing the wooden barriers.

The second the doors were secured, Derek spouted, "Where is Spencer? Is he alright? Where are they keeping him?"

Rossi, having fully expected this line of questioning, walked up to his king and started helping him undress.

"Wh-what are you doing? I don't want a bath! I want you to answer my questions," the king snarled, jerking his body backwards when David went to unlace his breeches.

"I will. I promise. But, yes, you do need a bath and it would look mighty suspicious if you left this room in the same state as you entered," Rossi informed the headstrong youth.

"Fine. But I don't need your help," Derek huffed like a haughty child.

"Then by all means," David said, waving his hand at the tub.

The sovereign quickly shed his clothes, revealing the toned body that had been hidden beneath and lowered himself into the tub. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh as the warm water enveloped his body. When he opened his eyes he was greeted by the sight of a soapy rag.

"Here, take it," Rossi ordered. "I'm not about to bathe you…that's your husband's job."

The king snatched the towel from his friend's grasp, "That it is…and I'd like to get him out of here so he can get back to work. Now will you finally tell me what is going on?"

Rossi grabbed two stools and positioned them next to the bathtub. He gestured for Sir Hotchner to sit down on the extra one.

Once they were all seated, the grizzled Italian said, "Well…there's good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"The good news."

"Alright…the good news is that Charles has absolutely no intention of killing Spencer. Which means we have plenty of time to execute our plan and get everyone out safely. We don't need to rush."

"Don't need to rush? Spencer's been stuck with this bastard for over six months – the sooner we get him out of here the better," Derek argued, taking his anger out on his legs as he scrubbed them furiously with the rag.

"Lord Rossi's right, Your Grace. While we may want to free King Spencer as quickly as possible, we would be risking his life and ours if we do it hastily. We need to take our time and factor in every variable before we spring into action. We have an advantage right now…we can observe our surroundings, accommodate our plans for any anomalies that we didn't anticipate and then make our move. I'm sorry, Derek but we won't be taking Spencer home tonight," Sir Hotchner declared.

Derek dropped the rag and looked back and forth between his two friends. The points Aaron made were solid as always. "Fine," he said even though he didn't like it. "What's the bad news then?"

A sour look overtook Rossi's features causing the submerged king's body to shiver with a sudden chill. "What? What is it?"

Lord Rossi leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, hanging his head, "Charles doesn't have any intentions of killing Spencer because…well, he is quite obsessed with him."

"What?"

"Charles barely lets the boy out of his sight; Spencer is always by his side. The poor boy eats, sleeps, and breathes in the king's presence. The king publically debases him during the day and sexually abuses him at night. It has been utterly unbearable to witness for days on end, knowing that I could do nothing without risking both of our lives. Derek…your willpower is about to be tested more than it's ever been before. Believe me…" Rossi trailed off.

The king clenched his eyes shut in despair. The room was silent for a few minutes as the three men reigned in their emotions.

Derek was the first to break the silence, "Do-uh-do you think I might be able to talk to him?"

"Maybe. I've been able to catch a few moments with him. Not many…but it is possible," Rossi explained. "It's funny…each time I have been able to get some alone time with him it was due to Prince Tobias. He seems to be pretty fond of King Spencer…they act like friends when they're together without the eyes of the king glaring down on them. Perhaps he can help us arrange another meeting."

"Will you see what you can do?" Derek requested, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I-I need to talk to him – see him – touch him."

"I'll do my best," Rossi promised. "But it may take a few days."

"Of course."

"As for right now, let's get you ready for dinner. The sun is setting and we'll be expected soon," the older man said, standing up from his stool.

* * *

Derek stood in front of a set of massive doors that led into the dining hall. He had on a fresh set of clothes and his sword strapped to his side. As always his friends were behind him, lending him their support and strength.

Before the doors were opened by the guards Lord Rossi stepped forth and whispered in his ear, "Remember to stay calm. Do not make eye contact with Spencer. He is just a slave and his treatment doesn't concern you – no matter what Charles does to him. We are here to discuss uniting our kingdoms and nothing more."

"Right," the young king whispered, trying to mentally prepare himself.

"You can do this, sweetie," Penelope murmured encouragingly.

He forced a smile onto his face and stepped forward. "I'm ready to enter," he told the guards.

The man on the right reached down and pulled up the horn that was hanging from his belt. He blew out a few notes to announce to the people inside the hall that royalty was about to enter. Then the two guards grabbed the handles of the doors and pushed them open.

There were multiple tables spread out throughout the room filled with courtiers all standing up out of respect for the royal guest. The hall itself was bedecked with fresh floral bouquets and candelabras. The smell of the flowers mixed with the food, creating a unique heady aroma. At the front of the hall sat King Charles at a massive table that was jammed pack with food. The seat to his right was empty but the one to his left was occupied by the prince. Raphael was fulfilling his knightly duties by standing erect behind his brother, fully prepared to protect the king were anything to happen. The only thing missing from the entire room was Spencer.

A disappointed Derek stopped his trek right in front of the rival king and said, "Good evening, Charles."

The king stood up and opened his arms wide, "Derek, please join us. I saved you a seat right here."

"It would be my pleasure," the young man answered. "And what of my friends?"

Charles grinned, "Well, Lord Rossi already has a seat dedicated to him at our table and…well shame on you Derek for not introducing me to the siren standing behind you."

"Ah, forgive me…both of you. Charles, may I introduce you to the lovely Lady Penelope," Derek announced gallantly.

Penelope, who was dressed in a dark green velvet dress with silver pipping, bowed low to the King of Georgia with a giggle. She graciously said, "Your Highness," before bowing lower to give him a better view of her assets.

"Lady Penelope, it is a pleasure to meet you. I would be honored if an enchantress such as yourself would take the open seat next to my son," Charles said as he ogled her cleavage.

"It would be an honor, Sire," she chirped, standing up with a bright smile and a flirtatious wink.

"Wonderful," Charles said. "And your knight –"

"Don't worry about Sir Hotchner. He will take position behind me," Derek said, cutting off the king.

"Of course."

Derek walked around the table and allowed Aaron to pull out his seat. He plopped down on the cushioned chair and turned toward his host, "This feast looks delicious."

"It tastes even better," Charles bragged. "Please, help yourself." He then snapped his fingers and ordered the servant to refill his flagon with some mead. "Make sure you pour some for Derek too."

Derek did his best to tuck into the food but found his stomach rebelling. So instead of bringing attention to himself he chose to pick at the cuisine and push it around his plate, trying to make it look like he was enjoying the fare. "Your cooks are astounding, Charles. Tell me, would your chefs be willing to take on students? I may have to send a few of my cooks down here for lessons."

"Didn't I tell you the food would be good?" Charles exclaimed, biting deeply into a roasted chicken leg.

"You did," he admitted before changing the subject. "So, what are the plans for tomorrow?"

The Georgian King swallowed his bite and said, "I figured we'd breakfast in our respective chambers and meet at nine in my conference room. We'll begin our discussion and break at noon for lunch. We'll then go hawking during the afternoon and eat what we catch for supper."

"Sounds like a busy day. I'll have to get plenty of sleep tonight in order to prepare," Derek said.

"Ha! I don't know how much sleep you'll get. We've got a night full of music and dancing ahead of us," Charles boasted before he helped himself to a cherry tart. "Speaking of music – I have a surprise for you, Derek."

The younger man crinkled his brow, "A surprise?"

Charles didn't answer; rather he snapped his fingers, beckoning Raphael forward. "Music. Now."

Raphael bowed to his brother and then left the room via the side door. Derek followed the knight with his eyes; his curiosity getting the best of him.

It took about five minutes for the king's brother to return. Derek's eyes were glued to the door as he avidly watched the foreboding knight walk back into the room with his hands full – in his right hand he held a lute and in his left he clasped the lead of a golden leash.

Derek felt his jaw drop when he saw what was on the other end of the leash – Spencer.

His beloved was swathed in only golden chainmail, but not the type seen on knights. Instead, the upper half of his body was practically bare. The only thing covering it were lengths of golden links – four individual strands of them wrapping over each shoulder and meeting in the center of his chest at a ruby that was two inches in diameter. From the ruby five more lengths hung down and connected with the waist chain. The view of his back was almost identical to the front except that it lacked the ruby. Overall, it pretty much looked like a golden chained body harness that had a starburst shape with a priceless jewel in the center.

On his lower half Spencer wore a golden-linked loincloth. The waist chain that the strands from the upper harness connected to was two rows of links thick. The chain had two box clasps holding it together positioned on the right and left side, allowing for the king to tighten or loosen the belt as he pleased. Two triangular portions of links hung down from the front and the back of the belt, covering the boy's assets – the front was approximately 11cm long while the back was about 15cm. The sides of his legs were bare except for three loops of gold arcing down to accentuate his thighs. Finally, the loincloth's links were decorated with smooth spade-shaped leaf molds. Each of the strategically placed leaves were dotted with ruby chips that sparkled whenever they caught some candlelight.

Finally, across Spencer's face rested a golden veil. It covered his visage from just above the tip of his nose downward, leaving only his haunting eyes exposed. The top 5cm were made out of tiny little golden discs that stretched from ear to ear. A narrow strand of them wrapped around his head and fastened in the back, holding the veil tightly against his face. The last row of discs had little loops attached to them, from which hung thin lengths of chain that stretched down past his chin, effectively masking the whole lower half of the boy's face. Around the crown of his head hung a length of chain that had little golden leaves sporadically strung from it to match the bottom loincloth. Dripping down from the center of the chain was a group of three rubies, strung in order from largest to smallest.

This sight of his husband clad so scantily left Derek feeling quite confused. For he felt outraged that his lover was so exposed and virtually put on display for all to see. Yet, on the contrary, he also felt lust coursing through his veins and lighting a fire in his loins. He had to admit that the outfit that King Charles had dressed his beloved in was incredibly sexy and would drive any man to sin. In the end he didn't know whether or not he wanted to jump up and throw a table cloth over Spencer's naked form or bend him over the nearest table.

Derek's musings were interrupted by Charles leering voice, "Recognize him, do you?"

"Uh…uh, yeah…isn't that my mother's former slave?" Derek asked, trying to make it sound like he couldn't even remember Spencer's name.

"Ah, you do recognize him," Charles stated. "I've got to admit. He's the best thing that I brought back from your country. So young and supple…he bends to my every whim. Ha, and when he doesn't I make sure to remind him who is in charge."

Derek resisted growling at the man and forced out a laugh instead, "He was my mother's favorite for a reason."

"Diana had good taste," Charles said, before turning his attention back to the slave.

Spencer, who hadn't looked up from the floor once throughout his journey, was now seated on a stool in the center of the room. His hands had been released from their manacles and the lute was positioned between them.

"Slave! Play us a song," Charles ordered.

Derek watched as Spencer's delicate fingers started plucking the thin strands of catgut, emitting a beautiful melody into the air. The music changed the atmosphere in the room as the occupants laid down their forks and sat back and enjoyed the tune, mesmerized by the exquisite sounds.

The young king, whose eyes hadn't left his lover's body once, suddenly realized what tune his husband was strumming – Greensleeves.

It was their song.

The one they danced to at the wedding. The one they had played for every special occasion. It was the one song that truly embodied how much they loved one another – and Spencer was playing it now for him.

Derek almost slipped in that moment and started singing the words out loud, but he caught himself before he could make that mistake. Instead he bit his bottom lip with his teeth, keeping the words tucked deep inside his mind.

As Spencer approached the end of the melody his head slowly started to tilt upward. Once the last string had been plucked the young slave dared to fully raise his gaze. And with bated breath Derek watched as his darling's maple brown eyes opened wide and connected with his own for the first time in eleven months.

* * *

**So I tried to do my best in describing his outfit (believe me, I have been planning it more than I was planning the chapter) but I realize that my words might not have done it justice. So, I'm going to tell you what I Googled so you can go look at what I used as inspiration/described.**

**Warning: I am not responsible for _all_ of the images that are going to pop up on your screen when you put the following things into the search engine...believe me there is some crazy stuff...that and you might be like me and get so caught up in looking at sexy chainmail that you realize two hours have passed.**

**Anyways:**

**For the upper half of the outfit: website was alexipress dot com and its called the Gold Silver Body Belly Waist Chain Bikini Beach Harness (I added the ruby in the center)**

**For the bottom half of the outfit: I Googled "Chainmail Loincloth" and it was like the 14 image for me.**

**For the veil: I Googled "Golden Face Veil" and it was the second image.**

**Both of the "Googled" items were under "Images"**

**Anyways, if you go looking have fun...there are so many things out there that I could have chosen. Ahhh, word of warning...you probably shouldn't be looking at this stuff if you're at work.**

**Till next time!**


	16. Found Out

**Hi Friends!**

**A super thank you to everyone still reading and enjoying this story. Your reviews brighten my day!**

**Ohh, speaking of reviews, Zeldawolf brought up a good point in her last review about the timeline. I just wanted to make sure we are all clear that yes, Spencer has only been with Charles for roughly 6 months (give or take time to travel to Georgia) but Derek went off to war 4 months before King Charles laid siege to Quantico. So if you factor in those 4 months and additional time to travel to Georgia, it has been roughly a year since our two lovebirds have seen each other.**

**Anyways, please forgive any mistakes!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Spencer allowed the music to flow through his fingers. He could feel each note down to his core as he played the musical love letter to his husband. Toward the end of the composition he felt an overwhelming urge to cast his eyes upon his lover. He knew it was dangerous to make eye contact but his desire to see his husband alive and well after so long won out in the end. So, as the final note had been plucked he dared to raise his chin all the way up and threw his gaze toward his best friend.

He wasn't disappointed.

The glance may have only lasted a moment but the emotions that were imparted through that one look would last a life time. Spencer literally felt the love radiating from Derek's mocha brown eyes. They were so intense and powerful but soothing at the same time. He swore he could almost hear Derek telling him that everything was going to be all right before he averted his gaze back to the floor.

The captive king sat silently as the dining hall erupted in applause around him. For though he was only a slave to these people they never shied away from admiring his musical talent.

"Hurrah!" Charles called out across the room, holding his flagon up high. "But that was too melancholy! This is a celebration boy. Play us a happier tune!"

Spencer nodded his head causing the tassels on the veil to tinkle together. He quickly shuffled through the different song options that were stuck in his brain and chose a more appropriate tune.

The courtiers in the hall were tapping their feet and clapping their hands by the time he was finished. The joyous atmosphere that his talented fingers had created was so catchy that even Charles himself seemed to want to get up and dance.

When the tune was over the king stood up from his seat and announced to his people, "Let us adjourn to the Great Hall. There we will drink and dance until the sun rises in the east." His proposal was met with multiple shouts of approval. The grandiose monarch turned toward his guest and asked, "Shall we, Derek?"

"Sounds like an excellent idea, Charles. So-uh-will he be providing us entertainment all night?" Derek asked, hoping that Spencer wouldn't have to continue his performance. "I had forgotten how talented he was with the lute."

Charles chuckled, "Among other things…but to answer your question, no. There is a string quartet already assembled in the Great Hall."

Derek's face fell slightly.

"But, my slave will be joining us," Charles continued. He turned toward his brother, "Raphael, go grab the boy and bring him to the Great Hall."

Raphael bowed to acknowledge the order and started off down the stairs of the dais.

"Oh, and make sure that you secure his hands behind his back this time. He got a little pushy last night and it's high time he's learned his lesson," the cruel king sniggered as he ushered his guest out of the room. And though it sickened Derek, he returned the smile and added a conspiratorial laugh before walking away with his enemy.

Spencer, who had been listening to the exchange, cringed at his husband's chuckle. Of course, he knew that Derek was playing along with the other man but hearing his lover laugh at his misfortune cut him deeply nevertheless.

"Stand up, boy," Raphael ordered once he got to Spencer's side.

The young man did as instructed after he set the lute down gently on the floor. He didn't resist as Raphael stepped behind him and attached the cool golden bands around each of his wrists. The manacles weighed his arms down and he allowed them to drop uncomfortably against his back. The chain in between the two cuffs was too short and caused his shoulders to pull back to accommodate for the unnatural position.

"Move," the knight commanded, yanking on the leash.

Spencer stumbled due to the force of the jerk but miraculously managed to stay on his feet. Raphael set a quick pace and before he knew it they were entering the Great Hall through the door hidden behind Charles's throne.

The music was already in full swing and there were countless couples out dancing on top of the hard wood floors. From his vantage point, Spencer saw that Charles was seated on his ornate throne and that Derek was next to him in Tobias's usual seat. Behind his beloved stood Sir Hotchner, diligently keeping watch over his liege.

Raphael didn't bother to stop and admire the lavish room; instead he impatiently pulled his charge's leash and dragged him over to the king. Once the knight reached the throne he shoved the helpless slave to the floor right in front of his brother.

Spencer tried to land on his knees but because his hands were bound behind his back he wasn't able to stick his landing. So instead of falling into his usual position he ended up sprawled out on his stomach with his face smashed into the floor.

"Get up, you lazy oaf," Charles snarled at him as he kicked out with his foot and nailed Spencer in the stomach.

The slave let out a grunt and closed his eyes, embarrassed that Derek was witnessing him at his weakest.

"Do you need me to get out my whip? That'll motivate you to move!"

He did his best to shake his head and slowly struggled to get on his knees.

Suddenly he felt a hand wrap around his bicep in order to help him up off the floor. At first he was confused as to who would be brave enough to aid him but then Derek's deep voice penetrated the air, "Really now, Charles, give the kid a break."

Spencer felt his heart race when he realized his husband had admonished the king. He finally opened his eyes and casted a panic look towards Derek.

"Excuse me?" Charles asked quietly with a hint of menace lacing his voice.

"The kid's arms are useless behind his back. How did you expect him to get up – huh? He was trying to do as you ordered…and you're just being cruel." Derek responded, tightening his grip on his husband's arm.

"First of all, _Derek_, may I remind you that you are a visitor to my kingdom. So the way that I treat _my_ people – _my_ slaves – is my business. And yes, this _kid_ is _mine_! I won him fair and square in the war – so your opinion on how he should be treated is inconsequential. Next, you need to let go of his arm. Now! As I said, I own this boy – body and soul – and I'm a selfish man, which means that I DON'T LIKE OTHER PEOPLE TOUCHING MY THINGS!" Charles thundered, his anger oozing out of his every pore.

The Great Hall instantly went silent in response to the king's shouts. The band stopped playing and the courtiers halted their dance. Everyone in the room had turned toward the throne and watched avidly as their sovereign seethed with rage that burned hotter than the surface of the sun.

Derek, startled by the vehemence radiating off his fellow monarch, wisely released his grasp on Spencer and took a step back. "Whoa, Charles. There's no need to get upset. I-I was just trying to help."

"Help a slave? This is his lot in life – remember?" Charles taunted. "You should…because as I understand it, you freed all of the slaves in your country except for this one. It seems like deep down even you know that this boy is destined to be in chains."

The young king had to force down the urge he had to deck Charles, scoop up Spencer and run out of this godforsaken place. The man's mocking words were testing his resolve; but instead of acting impulsively and risking the lives of everyone involved with Spencer's rescue, he clenched his fist and squared his jaw. He took a calming breath before stiffly saying, "I-I apologize for interfering, Charles. You are right. This is your home and you will run it as you see fit."

Derek's effort at placating the other king seemed to work. The fire that had flared up in Charles's eyes settled down to a small flame and his biting tone was missing from his next statement – though he did not acknowledge Derek's apology.

"Quite right, I _will_ run it as I see fit," he stated sharply. "Now, take your seat, Derek and let's get this celebration back on track." Charles waited for his guest to do as instructed and then waved his hand toward the cellist, giving him the signal to start the music once again. He then turned his attention back to his scantily clad slave and saw that the boy had finally managed to get to his knees. "Move to your proper position."

Spencer kept his head bowed as he shuffled backwards on his knees to the narrow space in between the kings' seats. Once there he settled on his heels and turned his stooped head away from Derek. Charles, though, wasn't happy with his pose. So he pressed his hand to the slave's back and pushed him down so that his back was parallel to the floor. "You will stay this way until I say otherwise." The king looked over at his companion and smiled boorishly, "How I love watching his hands strain against the chains. It makes my rod stand straight up every time."

Derek couldn't convince himself to laugh at Charles's lewd comment. Instead he held a straight face and simply nodded.

Penelope, who had watched the whole exchange, felt horrified for Spencer and woeful for Derek. She had to commend her friend for maintaining his composure as he watched his husband endure such treatment. But her admiration changed to worry when she saw Charles say something to Derek with a lecherous smile on his face. She didn't know what was being said but based on the way the young monarch's lips flattened and his eyes narrowed she knew it wasn't good.

Fortunately, the tune that the band had just begun to play was quite lively and it gave her a great idea. The bubbly blonde rushed up to the dais and bowed low to the two men before standing up with a bright smile on her face. "My liege, would you like to dance?" she asked her king, raising her eyebrow conspiratorially.

Derek kept the scowl on his face and answered brusquely, "No. I am not in the mood."

Lady Penelope let her smile falter at his answer. "Oh, I understand, Your Highness." She then turned toward Charles and flashed him a toothy grin. "How about you, Your Grace? I've heard from a few of your subjects that you are quite light on your feet," she said, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Charles, who was easily won over by any form of flattery, stood up and said, "It would be my honor, Lady Penelope." He extended his hand and clasped her delicate fingers in his, leading her down to the dance floor.

Derek, who was silently blessing Penelope and her wily ways, sat up straighter in his chair and kept his eyes on Charles. When he felt confident that the king was sufficiently distracted he opened his mouth slightly and tried to speak without moving his lips, "Are you alright?"

Unfortunately, the music was so loud that his words were swept away before Spencer could hear them. Realizing that he'd have to speak louder, he turned and gestured for Sir Hotchner to come closer. "Stand by my side and make it look like we are speaking to each other," Derek said.

"Of course, Your Highness."

Derek then turned back to face the crowd and said a bit louder, "Spencer, are you alright?"

Aaron moved his lips as if he was answering, but the one that was addressed remained silent.

Concern grew in the young king's belly at his lover's silence. "Sweetheart? It's going to be alright. We're here now – I'm here now. We're going to get you out of this."

Silence.

Unable to help himself, Derek glanced down at his husband's bent form and saw it shaking. He felt tears well in his eyes as his gaze roved the boy's exposed back, taking in the new scars that had been beaten into his delicate skin. The evidence of how much pain Spencer had been put through made Derek long to jump out of his seat and wrap his beloved up in his arms. "Please say something," he begged before averting his eyes back to the crowd.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spencer subtly shake his head back and forth as if to say, "No."

"He won't be able to hear you; he's off dancing with Penelope," Derek said, thinking that maybe Spencer was scared Charles would catch him talking.

Again, a slight bob of the boy's head was his only answer.

The young king knew that then that he wasn't going to get to what he wanted. So he dropped his left hand down off of the arm of the chair and allowed his limb to hang in the air limply, except for one appendage – his pinky finger. He slowly outstretched that little finger to its maximum length and silently rejoiced when its tip lightly ghosted over Spencer's right shoulder, caressing the soft skin he hadn't been able to touch in almost a year.

Derek closed his eyes the second he achieved skin to skin contact and savored the feeling. "You're not alone anymore," he whispered to his seemingly mute husband. "I'm here and I'm taking you home if it's the last thing I do," he vowed with conviction before pulling his hand back to its proper resting place.

Spencer, who desperately wished he could have answered his husband, was trying to reign in the tumultuous emotions that were running rampant through his body. Unfortunately, it was a battle he wasn't going to win in the middle of the Great Hall under the keen eye of his captor. Even now, as Derek tried to impart to him a small sense of security, Spencer could feel Charles's eyes burning into him. He knew without even looking up that his lover's faint touch hadn't gone unnoticed and that knowledge alone sent uncontrollable shivers through his body.

Moments later the spirited tune ceased and another one started up. While the courtiers continued on with their dancing the king excused himself from Lady Penelope's company and walked back up to his throne with a scowl on his face. He ignored his guest and turned toward his son, who was sitting in a chair on the left side of his throne, "Tobias, get off your ass and take my prize up to my room. Make sure you stay with him until I come up later."

The browbeaten prince didn't question his father's orders; instead he sprung up out of his seat and grabbed the lead of the leash from off the floor. He then placed a hand on Spencer's elbow and used his grip as leverage to help the slave up. "Goodnight, Your Highness. King Derek," the prince said, bowing to each man before escorting his charge out of the room.

* * *

The enslaved monarch dutifully followed along behind the prince as he was lead back to the king's chambers. Even though they were only a few steps away from the Great Hall, Spencer felt a hollow feeling settle over his heart at the loss of Derek's presence.

"Your friends are going to have to stop being so obvious," Tobias said, pulling the boy into a dark corridor. "My father sees everything…" the prince trailed off, stopping momentarily to speak with his only friend.

Spencer stared at Tobias with surprised eyes.

"He won't let you go…at least…not until he's grown tired of you. And even then, he'll kill you rather than give you away. So…Lord Rossi…King Derek...I hope they stop trying to push my dad about you…because the more they do the more valuable you become in his eyes. And if he – if he thinks that they are desperate to get you back he'll dangle you in front of them like a worm on a hook. My father…he'll use you in the vilest of ways to taunt them…"

The captive king looked away, refusing to acknowledge the truth behind his friend's words.

"I-I am confused about one thing though…I mean…I just don't understand why someone like King Derek would worry that much about you…you're just an emancipated slave that was doing him a favor by placating his mother's whims," Tobias stated in a mystified voice. "So why –"

"Prince Tobias! I'm so glad I ran into you," a husky voice interrupted as its owner emerged around the corner that led away from the Great Hall.

The unlikely duo turned toward the intruder, each equally surprised to see King Derek as the source of the voice.

"Your Highness. Uh…how-how can I help you?" the prince inquired, clearly puzzled by the sovereign's sudden appearance.

Derek's booted feet clomped heavily down the hallway as he approached the two men. He waited until he was within inches of their location to answer the bewildered prince. "I-uh-I seem to have gotten lost. I was looking for a…for a water closet," he explained with an embarrassed chuckle. "All that mead we drank at dinner seems to have gone right through me. I asked your father where to go to take care of business privately but his directions were pretty hard to follow."

Tobias gave the neighboring king a tight smile, "Yes, well, my father forgets that not everyone is familiar with the layout of the castle."

"Too true," Derek agreed. "So-uh, there wouldn't happen to be one around here, would there?"

The prince glanced around, as if he had forgotten where he was, and looked back at the king. "The closest one to here is in my father's chambers."

Derek's lips spread into a wide smile, "Perfect. Isn't that where you were going in the first place? I'll just join you two."

"I-uh, I don't think my father would like that," he said. "There is one closer to the Great Hall that you can use."

"Nonsense, I would only get lost again. No, I think it's better if I go with you. I'm sure Charles will understand. Now let's get going before I embarrass myself further in front of you," the king said smoothly, leaving no room for Tobias to protest.

Sufficiently defeated by Derek's logic, Tobias nodded and said, "This way." He'd have to continue his conversation with Reed after the king relieved himself.

Spencer, who hadn't taken his eyes off of Derek's the whole time, knew immediately that Derek's excuse was just a ploy - and he was pretty sure that Tobias knew it too.

The three walked the rest of the way to Charles's quarters in silence, only the scuffing of their feet through the rushes could be heard. Spencer had to give his lover credit for keeping to his story when they reached the chamber doors. The young king didn't stand still as they waited for the guards to open the door; instead he shuffled from foot to foot as if he could barely hold in the contents of his bladder. And once they were all inside and the doors were closed he turned to his host and asked urgently, "Where?"

Tobias simply pointed a finger over to a small alcove and watched as the visiting king rushed out of sight. He then turned back to Reed and said, "My father is probably expecting you to be in his bed when he gets here. Why don't you go wait for him there?"

Spencer shook and turned around, wiggling his bound hands.

"Oh, that's right. Let me open the door for you," the prince offered, walking over to the entrance to the bedchamber.

Spencer slowly followed, drawing out each step on purpose. Luckily, his procrastination technique paid off, for Derek exited the privy chamber just in time to see Tobias preparing to shut away his father's slave.

"Oh! Do you think I could take a look around in there? I've always wondered how other kings live," Derek asked earnestly.

"I-I don't think –"

"Come now, Prince Tobias. It's not like I'm going to steal anything – my pockets aren't big enough," he joked lightheartedly.

"I-I suppose a few seconds couldn't hurt," the prince relented easily.

"Thanks," Derek said, skirting around Tobias and grabbing the door handles. He looked up at the confused boy and said, "I'll just be a few seconds," before shutting the prince out of the room.

Spencer watched as the man he once thought was dead turned and focused his chocolate brown orbs on his scantily clad body.

"Spen-cer," he whispered, his voice catching slightly on his lover's name.

The slave's expressive pools widened with disbelief; he'd half-believed this moment would never come. But rather than allow Derek's name to drip from his luscious lips, he averted his gaze to the floor and allowed a few stray tears to drip from the corners of his charcoal outlined eyes. The saltwater drops traveled over his strong cheekbones and down underneath the golden veil, leaving streaks of black trailing down his cheeks.

"Spencer, sweetheart, don't cry," the king uttered upon seeing his beloved's reaction. Derek, unable to stand seeing his husband's enchanting eyes looking so sad, rushed over to his side and wrapped his arms around him. "It's going to be alright. I've got you now and I won't let go."

The captive king burrowed his head into the crook of Derek's neck, inhaling his musky scent in between his sniffles. He shut his eyes as his lover's aroma permeated his head, allowing it to summon memories of times when had he felt safe and secure in his beloved's arms.

"Say something," Derek pleaded as he used on hand to card through Spencer's shorter hair. "I need to hear you."

Spencer shook his head back and forth.

The muscular king laid both hands on his husband's shoulders and pushed him back a little. He tried to catch the other's eyes but the boy's amber orbs were eluding him. "Why? Are you mad at me?" He paused and watched as a few more teardrops fell from the boy's eyelashes, "I swear I got here as fast as I could. I-I was wounded in battle and it took a while for me to recover...or else I would have been here sooner…I promise."

The other king still remained silent, causing Derek's worry to rise like a tide at the full moon. "Please, tell me what's wrong!"

"He can't," a terse voice stated, cutting through the room and interrupting the lovers' reunion.

Spencer tried to wiggle out of Derek's arms but the king decided that since they had already been caught he wasn't going to let go. Instead, he pulled his young love closer and fixed a malignant stare on the prince. "What do you mean?" he asked caustically.

Tobias approached the two slowly with his hands held up nonthreateningly and with a softer expression. "He can't because of this," he said, reaching his hands around Spencer's head and unhooking the veil.

As the opulent accessory was lifted away, Derek inhaled a sharp breath. For the golden veil had been hiding a leather gag with an oral attachment that had been buckled around Spencer's head.

Charles should have considered himself very fortunate that he wasn't in the room with Derek at that moment, since the king would have flayed him alive in a heartbeat for humiliating his husband in this manner. "What is the meaning of this? Remove that atrocious thing. Now!" the king growled at the meek prince.

Tobias ducked his head and immediately put his fingers to work. "I'm sorry. I-it was my father's idea. He said he didn't trust Reed to keep his tongue quiet this time…so he made sure he didn't have a choice."

Embarrassed, Spencer looked up at the ceiling as Tobias unbuckled the monstrosity and pulled it away from his face. The second the gag was gone Derek cupped his husband's delicate cheekbone and brought Spencer's face down to meet his.

Then, heedless of the Prince of Georgia's presence, Derek placed the most passionate kiss he'd ever dispensed upon his long lost love's rosebud lips.

The two kings pulled apart for air after an inordinate amount of time, each panting for breath in the small space between where their foreheads met.

Tobias, who had watched the fiery display of emotion curiously, gasped as the puzzle pieces fell into place. His beady eyes focused on his father's most prized possession and said, "You're King Spencer. Aren't you?"

* * *

**Hmmm...so the question now is whether or not Tobias is going to tell Charles or help the boys out.**

**Guess we'll have to wait and see.**


	17. No Matter What

**Hi Friends!**

**Yesh...this chapter just did not want to be written. I haven't had this much trouble producing in a long time. I'm sorry it's not my usual length and I had plans for a few more scenes but the ending just felt right.**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Tobias's question hung over the room for a few seconds before Spencer stuttered, "W-what makes you think that?"

The prince smirked but didn't answer the question straightaway, "I can't believe it…it's been staring me in the face the whole time and I never put it together until now." Tobias locked eyes with Spencer and said, "It all makes sense."

"W-what makes sense?"

"The way you risked my father's ire when you asked Lord Rossi about King Derek's wellbeing, how after finding out he was alive a spark seemed to brighten your eyes…and the way you called out for him when you were recovering from your lashings," Tobias listed on his fingers.

"That doesn't mean he is King Spencer," Derek argued. "He is just a slave that I care deeply about."

Tobias gave Derek an annoyed look. "Honestly, Your Grace, I've heard enough about you to know that you are head over heels in love with your husband. You would never dally with another behind his back."

Derek opened his mouth, intent on arguing Tobias's point, when Spencer whispered, "I-it's okay, Derek. We can trust him."

Shocked, the King of Quantico looked at his beloved with wide worried eyes but Spencer refused to meet his gaze. Instead the young slave was sending the prince a look that implored him to agree with his statement.

"H-he's been a true friend to me this whole time. I know that he won't betray me now," Spencer concluded, giving Tobias a small smile at the end.

"A friend? He's Charles's son…he doesn't give a rat's ass about you. You're just his father's slave!" Derek declared vehemently. "There is no way we can trust him!"

"You don't have a choice, Your Grace," Tobias said, using the same placating tone he would employ with his father when he was in a rage.

"Like hell, we don't have a choice," the hot-headed youth seethed before gripping his lover's arm and stomping toward the door.

"And what do you propose to do? Storm out of here with him in your arms?" Tobias shot back. "My father's men line these halls and the castle perimeter. You may be able to handle of few of them but at least one will run and sound the alarm. You'll be captured within minutes of your attempted escape and then where will you be? I'll tell you – in the dungeon while my father, who will then know his slave's real identity, will beat and abuse Reed until he is unrecognizable. Then he'll drag you out of your cell and rape your husband right in front of you before he stabs you through with the same sword he used on your mother. So sure, you have a choice. You can choose between trusting me and making a go on your own," the prince said, "and deep down you know which is the right decision to make."

"Actually, I have a third choice – I could run _you_ through right now." Derek threatened, his free hand going to the sword buckled at his side. "That'd buy us the extra time we need to escape."

"N-no, Derek! Stop," Spencer cried, realizing that his husband was dead serious. "He's right. The prince is right. We'd never make it out of the front gates, let alone this corridor. We are in enemy territory and you are threatening to kill the only ally that we have. We have to trust him to help us…I-I trust him to help us." The enslaved king wished that his hands weren't still held captive behind his back or else he would have been using them to try to soothe the savage beast inside of Derek that was seconds away from showing its claws.

The fire in the king's eyes cooled off slightly as he threw an apprehensive glance at his distraught lover. "How can you trust him? After all they've done to you since you've gotten here."

"Tobias didn't do any of those things to me," Spencer assured him. "It was his father."

The young prince felt a swell of warmth at the fact that his only friend was standing up for him. "I swear, King Derek, that I speak the truth when I say that I will help you two. I-I hate my father…he is a horrible man that is only happy when others are suffering. I-I promise that I'll do anything to help you get Reed – uh…King Spencer out of here. He's been the only friend I've ever known and I don't think I could bear to watch my father make him suffer any more...," Tobias professed sincerely.

The honesty in Tobias's words softened the snarl on Derek's face. He could tell by the way the prince looked at his husband that what the young man said was true. "Alright. But I swear to you that if you are lying – if you double-cross us – you will pay with your life."

"Understood," Tobias said as he let out the breath he had been holding in anticipation. "Now you have to go."

"What?! No! I'm not leaving," Derek argued, tugging Spencer closer to him.

"You have to," the prince hissed. "My father has probably already sent some of his men after you to find out where you are. We can't afford for them to find you in here."

"No. We haven't even gotten to talk yet – we need just a few more minutes…alone."

"I-I'm sorry, Your Grace, but it's just not possible right now. Please, you must see reason –"

"No, you need to see reason. I haven't seen my husband in almost a year – "

"Derek! Derek, you have to go and you know it," Spencer cut in, pulling back from his beloved's tight embrace.

"…"

"Please…you can't get caught now…more than just my life is a stake – it's yours too and Lord Rossi's, and Lady Penelope's, and everyone else that you brought," the younger man said, hoping that his husband wouldn't let his worries over Spencer's safety cloud his judgement.

Derek broke his gaze from his beloved's expressive pools and glanced around the room. He took in the enormous ornate bed that had multiple rings strategically drilled into the wooden frame. A sharp pain pierced his heart when he realized that his lithe lover had probably been attached to a few of those over the past few months.

His mocha brown orbs met Spencer's amber ones before he croaked in a thick voice, "I-I don't want to leave you here."

Spencer gave him a sad smile, "I'll be alright. I promise…"

"…no…no, I'm here now…you-you shouldn't have to – you shouldn't have to go through…" Derek trailed off, unable to get out the words that slicing him up inside.

"It's okay," he insisted, trying in vain to comfort his troubled lover. "It's okay because I know that you're here now…and that this will all be over soon. I can last just a little bit longer."

The king leaned his forehead against Spencer's, forgetting about Tobias's presence for just a moment. "I don't want him to touch you again," he whispered, his voice catching on the word 'touch.'

"I know…I know…," was all he said, a tear catching in his eyelashes at the outpouring of emotion he could feel coming off of Derek.

Tobias, whose heart was swelling in his chest at witnessing such a tender moment between the two lovers, cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but you really must go now."

The two men did not break contact; rather they pressed their lips together and savored the fleeting connection that they shared for the moment. When they finally broke apart Spencer whispered, "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Derek stood up straight and nodded, even though they both knew it would be impossible for him not to worry.

The prince gestured to the doors, "I suggest you wander the halls until someone finds you. Act like you got lost and look really relieved that you ran into them. Make it believable."

"I will."

"Good. I'll come to your rooms tomorrow after the hunt to discuss your plans," Tobias said, as he walked toward Spencer and grabbed his bicep. He then led the slave back over to his father's bed and instructed him to sit with his back against the headboard. He then reached behind his friend and attached the chain running between the manacles to one of the golden loops. Spencer, unable to meet his husband's eyes any longer, trained them on the bed as he was trussed up like a Christmas turkey.

Derek, who was fighting the urge to put a stop to his lover's treatment, growled when he saw the prince produce the gag from his pocket. "Is that really necessary?"

Unexpectedly, it was Reid who answered his question. "Yes, Derek, it is. King Charles will be expecting me to be wearing the same outfit that I was in earlier, including that. If he comes in and sees me without it he'll know something is going on. Now get going before someone finds you in here," the young lover said adamantly, his gaze never leaving the comforter beneath him.

Realizing that his husband was fighting his hardest to put on a brave front for him – that the genius was actually trying to be his rock in this situation – stunned the proud young king. He knew then that if he didn't leave soon his lover would be likely to break down from the shame of having Derek witnessing his humiliating treatment. Knowing that he couldn't let Spencer's valiant efforts to stay strong be in vain, he reluctantly opened the door and quietly stepped out saying, "This is the last time I leave you behind," through his gritted teeth.

When Spencer's keen ears heard the door settle back into its frame he asked Tobias, "Is he gone?"

"Yes."

"G-good," he whimpered, allowing the tears he had been holding at bay to finally slide down his cheeks. "I-I didn't realize s-s-seeing him in person f-finally would be s-s-so hard," he stuttered between the sobs that had overtaken his body.

"Shhhhhh," Tobias murmured as he cupped Spencer's right cheek with his hand. He caressed the boy's angular bones with his thumb and kept shushing him in a comforting manner.

After a few minutes of turmoil the bound man's harrowing cries quieted down to little sniffles. "T-thank you," he whispered softly to his friend, bringing his chin up in order to meet the prince's eyes, "…for everything."

Tobias flashed him a woeful smile and used a handkerchief that he had produced from this doublet pocket to wipe away the boy's tears and the streaks of charcoal they left in their wake. "So, you're really King Spencer?"

"Y-yes, I am."

"And you really trust me?"

Confusion clouded Spencer's eyes, "Y-yes, I do. Of course, I do. Why?"

"I just wanted to make sure you weren't just saying those things to make King Derek feel better. A-and I really do want to help. I've known since the moment I met you that you were special and not destined to be caged like a bird in my father's gilded castle."

The prince stopped his words for a moment as if he was contemplating whether or not to continue. Spencer was just about to ask him a question when Tobias's meek voice gained strength and resumed its litany.

"I've also never felt so accepted by anyone else. Y-you were the first person to really see me and you've helped me to see that it's alright to be myself. Because of that – because of your friendship – I would do anything for you…," the prince vowed. "…I-I think that I might even –"

"I know," Spencer said, cutting him off before he could finish. "And…I want you to know how much I value you…and your friendship…but that's all it can ever – will ever be…friendship."

Tobias's face turned red at the implication behind the king's words. "I-I…I don't know what you…," he stammered, trying to save face. He then looked down at the gag in his hands and cleared his throat. "You're right. We'll always be friends," he stated solemnly before raising the muzzle and fixing it in place.

After he had reapplied the golden veil around the young man's face, the prince stood up from his spot on the bed and started to walk out of the room. When he got to the doorway he stopped suddenly and turned back toward the ill-fortuned boy, "Spencer," he said, addressing his friend by his real name for the first time, "I promise that I will do everything in my power to get you and your friends out of here alive. No matter what."

* * *

**You'll be happy to know that I finally have my endgame figured out for this story. Maybe five more chapters...we'll see. Sometimes I plan out the chapters really well but while I'm writing them things just happen and all of my plans get changed. So, don't hold me to five...**

**On a sadder note, I'm back to work on September 1st. My hope is to finish this before then but that is a lofty goal. If I don't manage it please bear with me - I'm starting out at a new school this year and it's going to take some time for me to get my bearings there. That and I do want to spend time with my family after work, so writing will be pushed down on my priority list.**

**Anyways - Next up: Derek and Tobias iron out the escape plan - but wait - uh oh...nothing ever goes as planned for our boys...**


	18. The Plot Thickens

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for the reviews and understanding. I can tell you already that I'm not going to finish this before school starts up again. I thought I had an extra week to myself but my school decided to spring three impromptu meetings on me - taking away my writing time :(  
**

**We are nearing the end though peeps!**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The castle hallways were vast and winding. It didn't take Derek very long to actually get lost as he tried to find his way back to the Great Hall. So when he spotted the intimidating figure of Raphael approaching him from the other end of the corridor he let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank God! I thought I was doomed to wander these halls for eternity," he called out jokingly, hoping that the knight would buy into his half-ruse.

The king's brother didn't acknowledge the other man's jest and approached him with a stern countenance. "You've been gone for a long time. The king sent me out to find you."

"Believe me, I know. I've swear I've been walking in circles since I left the privy chamber," Derek said good-naturedly.

Raphael raised one eyebrow. "You got lost?" he asked, skepticism dripping from his lips.

"Is it really that hard to believe? This place is enormous."

"Right, but the privy is only one right turn down from the Great Hall," the knight countered.

Derek's face lost all sense of playfulness, "Well apparently I made a left."

"Touché, Your Highness. Shall I lead you back?" Raphael suggested, dropping the subject begrudgingly.

"Lead the way," was all he said before the man turned heel and tramped off down the hallway.

* * *

The music was still in full swing when Derek reemerged into the Great Hall. A small growl clawed at his throat knowing that such happiness could occur right down the hallway from where his husband was being practically tortured.

"Derek! I was worried that you'd left," Charles exclaimed upon seeing him walk into the room.

The young king forced down the angry retort he wanted to deliver and plastered a smile on his face, "Nonsense, Charles. It's just that your castle is much too large. It felt like I was wandering around for hours…thankfully your brother found me before I died of starvation."

Charles chuckled loudly and threw his arm around his fellow king. He started escorting his new friend back to their seats but not before throwing Raphael a conspiratorial look. "Would you care for another mug of mead?"

Derek pulled out of the king's grasp and stood by his throne, observing the room looking for his friends. "I-uh…I'm not really feeling up to another round," he said absentmindedly, raising his hand in the air to catch Lord Rossi's attention. "All that wandering around made me realize how tired I am after our journey. I'm thinking it's about time to retire for the night."

Charles's squinted his eyes suspiciously but didn't call Derek out on his blatant lie. "Of course. How foolish of me to have expected otherwise. Will you be requiring any services in your room overnight? Shall I send someone to stoke the fire? A late night snack?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Breakfast when the cock crows will be fine," Derek replied, nodding his head at Rossi as he joined them up on the dais. "Lord Rossi, I think the long trip has finally caught up with me. I'm about to retire for the night. Will you do me a favor and keep an eye on Lady Penelope as she dances away her energy preserves? I wouldn't want her getting into any trouble whilst I'm away."

"Of course, Your Grace. I'll be happy to stay with her – "

"Oh balderdash, Derek. I'll keep an eye on your fair friend," Charles interrupted with a toothy grin.

The younger king hesitated.

The Georgian King picked up on the other's uncertainty immediately. "If you can't trust my word on something as simple as this, than what are you doing here?"

Realizing his mistake, Derek instantly launched into a quickly fabricated explanation. "It's not you I don't trust, Charles…it's that vivacious vixen out there tearing up your dance floor. I saw the way she flirted with you earlier. I wouldn't put it past her to follow you to your chambers for some late night fun. And she is already spoken for…so…I-I just want to make sure she leaves here with her…uh…integrity intact…if you know what I mean."

"Ahhh, I see. The lady does not know when to stop," Charles stated.

"Exactly…once she sets her sights on something she wants she has a hard time backing down," Derek said, internally wincing at the way he was tarnishing Penelope's reputation even though it was for the greater good.

"Well, would it help if I said I have no interest in the lady, as such. I have a much better outlet for my desires waiting for me upstairs," he gloated with a boisterous laugh. "No…Lady Penelope is just an admiral dance partner and nothing more. You can rest assured tonight that the beautiful lady's reputation will remain as pristine as it is now," Charles guaranteed.

"My thanks, Charles. I will have sweet dreams knowing that no harm will come to my dear friend," Derek said, playing along. "Lord Rossi, will you be staying as well?"

The older man, who had been observing the entire conversation with interest, could tell that his king was not comfortable with leaving Penelope behind without an ally in the room. "No, I think I will stick around and find myself a pretty cunny to fondle."

His lewd comment drew a raucous hoot from Charles, who then clapped him on his back. "Well said, Lord Rossi. Come now, I think I see a plump figure ripe for the picking standing coyly in the corner."

Derek felt a flood of relief come over him as he watched the two men walk away. He then turned and gestured to Sir Hotchner to join him. "Do you remember how to get back to the guest chambers?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Lead the way then," he ordered.

The walk back to the king's rooms was quite. Once they reached the lavish chambers and were closeted away inside, Sir Hotchner broke the silence, "Where did you go? Did you find anything out?"

The king rubbed his hand over his head and let out a grunt of frustration. "I…uh…I don't want to talk about it right now. Let's wait till the morning when Lord Rossi and Penelope are here…I'll tell you everything then."

The knight immediately backed off of his line of questioning. "As you wish, Your Grace. Do you require anything further of me before you retire?"

"No…no, I'll be fine getting ready for bed on my own," Derek said distractedly. His mind was still lingering on his husband, who was one wing over - ready and willing to sacrifice another piece of himself so that they could all leave here alive.

* * *

The next morning found Derek waking up as soon as the rooster squawked loudly at the sun. He had spent the long agonizing night tossing and turning trying to banish images of Spencer submitting to Charles from his head. So when the sweet sound of that pompous bird announced that dawn had arrived he flung back his covers and planted his feet on the cold stone floor.

Derek went over to the wardrobe and rifled through his belongings until he found a robe he could use to battle the bitter chill that permeated the air. He wrapped the soft fabric around his body and walked over to the fireplace. Once he got there he grabbed the poker and tried to stoke the fire back to life using the hot embers. Unfortunately, the ashes of last night's blaze were not hot enough to coax back to life.

Never one to rely solely on his servants to get things done, Derek grabbed a few fresh logs and a handful of kindling. Within minutes there was a healthy flame licking at the wood, radiating heat to the lone occupant.

He then sat back in the chair that was stationed in front of the heat source and stared into the flames.

How was his lover this morning?

Had Charles been rough on him last night?

Would he get to see him today?

Were they really going to be successful in saving Spencer from this nightmare?

Those questions and more flitted through his mind as he watched the tendrils of fire flicker to and fro. The burning wisps were so hypnotizing that the king didn't even hear the entrance of his friends into his bedchamber. Instead, it was a sharp hand gripping his shoulder that drew him away from his thoughts, causing him to jump in surprise.

"What? Oh, Lord Rossi…I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in," he said glumly after he realized who it was.

"I gathered as much. Are you up for some breakfast?" he asked, gesturing to the cart laden with food that Lady Penelope was pushing into the room.

The enticing aroma of honeyed cakes, fresh berries, and sizzling breakfast meats teased his nose, causing his stomach to growl in anticipation. "I guess I am," he admitted, surprised that he had an appetite in light of the situation.

"Wonderful," Penelope gushed, "I was worried I'd have to force feed you." She eagerly loaded a plate with all the goodies it could hold and thrusted it into his hands. "Now eat!"

The others were polite enough to allow the king to eat a few morsels of food in peace before they started peppering him with questions. Derek was midway through his second raspberry scone when Lord Rossi decided it was time to address the elephant in the room.

The older man set his cup of morning tea to the side and sighed, "So…do you want to tell us what happened last night?"

Derek stopped in mid-chew and swallowed what was left in his mouth whole. The food traveled in one big lump down his gullet which was a mistake because he could have sworn it got stuck halfway down. He took a few drinks of the fresh squeezed orange juice that was in the glass next to him and used the extra time to gather his thoughts.

Commendably, the others sat silently waiting for him to answer.

Deciding it was now or never, he delved into his story. "Um…last night I was able to steal a few moments away with Spencer."

"What? How?" Penelope squeaked in surprise.

"I…uh…followed him and the prince out of the Great Hall and acted like I needed to use the bathroom. I convinced Prince Tobias to take me with him and allow me to use his father's privy. After we got to the king's chambers I took care of business then made up an excuse to go into Charles's bedchamber - where Spencer was being held. I fooled the prince and shut him out of the room; an act that bought me some alone time with Spencer," Derek said, trying to condense his version to the simplest form.

"And Tobias just let you?" Lord Rossi asked skeptically. "I mean…I know the kid's a little bit dense but even he had to know something fishy was going on…"

Derek held up his hand to stay the older man's words, "I'll get to that in a second."

"So what happened next?" Penelope queried.

"…I tried to talk to him – I-I wrapped him up in my arms and tried to explain what took me so long…but he wouldn't answer me," tears started forming in Derek's eyes as he retold those few harrowing moments. "I-it turns out that Charles – that bastard – had him wearing a gag underneath that veil."

Lady Penelope gasped at the revelation. "Y-you couldn't even tell. Oh, my poor troubled king! Why would that awful man do that to him?"

Derek scoffed, "It seems as though Spencer has had trouble in the past with knowing when to keep quiet."

"It's true. When I arrived he wasn't able to contain himself and he ended up shouting out to me in front of the whole court. Charles wasn't too pleased with him after that – it's…uh…it's why he whipped him," Lord Rossi supplied with a wince.

The king fought hard to contain the rage that came with the new knowledge that Rossi had given him. He felt it bubbling up, but wisely knew that letting it out now would accomplish nothing. So he quelled the urge to explode by counting to ten and then carried on with his tale. "Right. Well, that goes along with what Tobias said about his father not trusting Spencer to be quiet."

"Tobias?" Sir Hotchner asked with concern. "Why would he have told you that?"

"Because he was the one to show me the gag. Remember, Spencer's hands were secured behind his back; he couldn't show me. So when…when I was in the middle of begging him to talk to me, Tobias interrupted us…apparently he'd been in there all along…I was just too focused on Spencer to notice," Derek admitted.

"Wait – are you saying that Tobias knows about you and King Spencer?" Penelope asked with fear tinting her voice.

"Actually, I'm saying more than that…he figured out who Spencer is," he revealed.

Lord Rossi swore a few profanities before picking the conversation back up, "So what now? I'm assuming that since we weren't arrested by Charles's men last night that the kid's going to stay quiet."

"Yeah, he is…in fact…he wants to help."

"Can we trust him?" Hotchner asked, his misgivings clear in his tone.

"I think we can," Derek replied.

"How do you know, Your Grace?" the knight inquired, needing proof to feel more at ease.

"Because…I think Prince Tobias might just have fallen in love with him," Derek told them.

"Wow!" Penelope exclaimed. "What do we do now?"

"We use the resources we have at hand to free our unfortunate friend," Rossi said simply, as if the answer were as clear as day.

* * *

"So you really believe that the land beyond the Mighty Mississippi is really worth going after?" Charles asked his fellow king incredulously. The two monarchs and their counsellors had been sitting in the meeting for well over two hours discussing westward expansion. It was getting close to noon and there were a few grumbles of hunger coming from all around the room. "It's all forest out there – nothing but wood and animal pelts. Why would we want to rule over that?"

"You're not thinking far enough into the future, Charles. One day our lands will be so prosperous that we'll need to spread out. Where will our people go? Out west! Shouldn't we already be in control of that land when they head out that way? Shouldn't our rules already be established and the taxes already sanctioned? I think if we don't make a move to claim that land now we'll be missing out on a big opportunity," Derek argued, knowing that his points would appeal to the greedy man.

The older king sat there contemplating Derek's words. He turned to Raphael, his top advisor, and whispered something in his ear. The knight's response caused a smile to spread across Charles's haggard face.

"Alright, Derek. We agree that you have some valid points…but…," Charles trailed of purposefully.

"But what?"

"What's to stop me from just expanding my borders by myself? Why do I need you? I honestly don't see why we need to work together on this," he finished.

Derek knew that this was his one chance of convincing Charles to go along with him. "Look, we both know that you have the might in this relationship but I have the foresight. I am able to look at any map and plan out a flawless battle plan. My advisors and I can devise attacks that keep our enemies on their toes. If there are any hostile natives living out there you'll definitely need me and my strategies. Think about it and you'll see. Together we'll be unstoppable."

"Perhaps you are right…in that regard. But I never enter a business deal unless my pockets are guaranteed to grow fatter," Charles responded begrudgingly.

Derek smiled, "I wouldn't expect anything less. I've already discussed that with my husband and for starters we'd like to offer you a 40/60 arrangement when it comes to our profits."

Charles's eyebrows rose at the proposed terms.

"That is how confident we are that we'll make a fortune off of that land. We know we're going to make money regardless of how big our cut is," Derek gloated.

The Georgian king tented his fingers and leaned forward, "And what else are you willing to concede?"

"You will get your pick of the land; as long as it's fairly divided according to our arrangement," the young king offered.

A twinkle of mirth shined in the cruel king's eyes, "I would like some time to discuss these terms with my counsellors in private. For now, shall we stop our meeting here and pick it back up on the morrow? My stomach is aching to be fed and we've still got the thrill of the hunt awaiting us after we eat."

"That sounds fair," Derek stated. "But before we adjourn, I'd like propose a trade."

"A trade? For what?" Charles growled.

"As you know, my men captured over seventy of your soldiers when we took back our castle. I don't see the need for keeping them around if you and I are about to enter a business deal," Derek explained.

"Go on," the other king demanded.

The ambitious youth plowed ahead, "Well, I was informed that you also took a few prisoners of war on your way through my country. I would like to make an even trade – today, if possible – my people for your people. It's as simple as that."

The room was silent as Charles mulled over the suggestion. He rubbed his chin with his hand before turning and looking at Raphael. Neither man said a word; rather they seemed to be holding a conversation with their eyes. The king broke his gaze off of his brother and turned back to his new ally, "We will need time to discuss the trade. I am not sure I am willing to give up my spoils of war so easily."

"Of course, Charles. Perhaps you could have an answer by this time tomorrow?" Derek requested.

Charles's eyes narrowed warily, "Why the rush?"

"There are many families in my realm that you have torn asunder. I only wish to put them back together as quickly as I can," he professed, speaking as much for himself and Spencer as he was for the other citizens of Quantico.

His answer seemed to be sufficient for the cagy man nodded his head. "Alright, we will inform you of our decision tomorrow. Now let's eat."

* * *

The noonday sun was shining high up in the cloudless sky. Its golden rays were trickling down and reaching through the stained glass of the top half of the oriel window. The rainbow of hues that danced across the hardwood floor had traveled with the sun as it moved through the morning sky. Since dawn, Spencer had been watching the colors crawl through the room until they washed his pale feet in their beauty.

A soft smile graced his lips as he enjoyed the memory that the light soaking through the stained glass evoked in his head – his wedding night. He could feel the gentle caress of Derek's soft hands as they explored his body. He shivered as he imagined his lover's silky lips peppering every inch of his skin with kisses right before he entered –

The bedchamber doors crashed open and Charles came walking into the room with Raphael in tow, sufficiently disrupting Spencer's happy memory.

"It seems like Rossi is living up to his word," Charles was saying as he walked into the room.

"True," Raphael concurred. "King Derek's terms were definitely skewed in your favor."

The king smiled with glee, "I really don't see any reason that we shouldn't agree to his terms, though. I mean, it really doesn't matter in the end…especially if Lord Rossi can fulfill his end of the bargain and deliver Quantico to me on a golden platter."

"Well, like I said, as of right now it seems as though his word is true," Raphael agreed. "But you cannot just go in there tomorrow and sign a contract. You must negotiate something or else you'll seem like a pushover."

Charles grunted before he snapped his fingers, calling forth the usher of the bedchamber. "Prepare me for hawking," he ordered the man as he held out his arms for undressing.

The groomsman quickly stripped the king of his gaudy outer layers and left him standing in his underclothes. He then scuttled around the room and gathered what he needed to dress the king for his afternoon outing.

Spencer, who was sitting upright in the bed, was trying to listen closely to the conversation so he could pass on even the smallest piece of information to his husband. Unfortunately, Charles's sinister eyes had been wandering around the room while he was waiting to be dressed and they fell upon his favorite toy.

"Slave, get off that bed and get over here," he commanded, pointing at the floor in front of him.

The gangly boy, whose limbs had been liberated from their bonds last night after Charles had finished playing with him, scrambled over and kneeled in front of the sovereign.

"Have you been lazing around in bed all morning?" he snarled.

"I-I…uh…I," Spencer stuttered, wishing he didn't have to answer that question.

"Enough," Charles roared, backhanding his slave almost knocking him off his knees. "You aren't here to enjoy yourself. I expect you to do work while I'm away."

"I-I'm s-sorry, sire," Reed whispered while internally wondering just what the monarch expected him to do while confined to the bedchamber.

"The word of a slave is worth less than the love of a whore. You do not get to apologize to me with your words – you must show me with your actions," the king decreed with an evil glint in his eyes.

"Yes, sire."

There was a heavy silence hanging in the air before Charles broke it by saying, "So, show me how sorry you are."

Spencer shifted uncomfortably on his knees and peered up at the king with his big brown orbs, "Yes, sire."

Charles thrusted his hips forward into the boy's face. "You know what to do," he leered, salivating over the innocent look in the boy's doe-like eyes.

The young man's nod was nearly imperceptible as he reached his delicate hand up and brought forth the monarch's organ from his undergarment. He then closed his eyes and started to work the piece of flesh with his plump pink lips.

Above him, the king flung his arms behind his head and enjoyed the sight. He shot his brother a lecherous grin and let out a little groan. "What-uh-what was that you were saying about negotiating?" he spat out in between moans.

Raphael rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "I think you should hold out on the trade he proposed."

Charles rolled his hips forward, pushing himself deeper into the boy's throat. "Uhg…faster boy! Faster," he ordered, grabbing Reed's short brown hair with his hand in order to force the kid swallow his whole muscle. It only took a few more seconds for the mighty monarch to reach his climax which he signaled with a powerful roar as he spilled his load down the slave's passage. He shoved the boy backwards and laughed, "Now that was what I call an apology."

Spencer sat panting on the floor, trying to keep the contents of his stomach housed inside his body. He wiped his face off with the back of his hand and realized that there were a few tears mixed in with the stray bits of semen. Shame coursed through his veins at the sight of the milky white fluid remnants on his skin and he vowed then and there to never tell Derek the gruesome details of his captivity.

Moments later Charles kicked him out of the way so his usher could finish dressing him. "So, you think that I shouldn't trade with Derek to get our soldiers back?" the sovereign asked his brother.

"No. What I'm saying is that you shouldn't give all of his citizens back all at once. Spread it out. Think of it as a safety precaution. Give him back the women and children first and keep the men till later," Raphael suggested.

"I like where your head is at, brother," the king chuckled. "That should keep that fucking child honest."

"Exactly."

Suddenly, Spencer felt a hand on the back of his neck, forcing him to look up at his owner.

"And you…I'm never giving you back," Charles smirked. "You're mine for the rest of your godforsaken life."

* * *

"Fucking hungry," Carl griped, kicking his foot out at the empty bowl in the middle of the cage. The toe of his shoe connected with the tin vessel and sent it careening into the head of one of his fellow captives. The man cried out in surprise at the sudden hit but decided not to confront the agitated knight. Instead, he went back to playing the game he and his fellow prisoners had made up using a couple of stones they found on the floor of their cage.

Ignoring the soldier's passive reaction, Carl continued to complain as he hunkered down in the corner of the cage he was being held in with six other men. The afternoon sun was high in the sky. Its rays beating down on the metal bars, causing them to burn any exposed skin that touched them. He closed his eyes to ward off the bright light but the thin layer of skin didn't help very much.

"If I can't eat the least you all could do is shut up so I can nap in peace," he groused at the men in the corner.

The soldiers immediately broke up their game, hoping to appease the grumpy knight. They had all spent too much time in captivity with Sir Buford and they knew what he was capable of when he was in a bad mood.

"Finally, silence" Carl sighed, relaxing his head back onto the bunched up shirt that he'd confiscated from one of his fellow prisoners.

Unfortunately, his tranquility didn't last long, for two of King Derek's guard-dog knights were making their rounds. Their voices were hushed as they gossiped but not low enough to avoid Buford's detection. As they got closer Carl cautiously peeked his eyes open to catch a glimpse of them; the knight on the right was quite tall while the other was of average height but had a larger build. When it looked like they were headed over to check the locks on his wagon, the imprisoned knight stilled his body and feigned sleep.

" – you serious?" he heard the shorter one ask.

"Absolutely," the tall knight said. "It was him. I may have been stationed at the other end of the hall but I couldn't miss those big brown eyes of his. Oh, and the way the King Derek couldn't stop watching him all night…I guarantee you it was King Spencer."

"Really? I-I just can't believe it. He's been down here being held as a slave for all these months? I thought King Charles had just taken him prisoner or something," the short one replied incredulously.

"I thought that too…but now all the secrecy makes sense. I'm betting that Charles doesn't even know what he has right under his nose…because if he did, he sure as hell would have killed him or held him for ransom," the tall man said.

"Yeah –"

Whatever else the men said was lost on Carl as they moved out of the area. Regardless of missing the latter part of the conversation the old knight knew that he had heard enough. He had all the information he needed to win the king's favor and get back in his good graces once again.


	19. Confession

**Um wow...Hi Friends?**

**I know, its been a really long time...really long...and I'm giving you a really short chapter...at least for me. But honestly, I had actually written about 6 more pages but I hated them and scrapped them. I really have to rethink that part of the plot and I just couldn't post it.**

**Anyways, I decided to just post what I had and maybe this is how it will be for now on...short chapters but more frequently...because honestly, I am exhausted. After taking a year off of teaching I had forgotten how overwhelming the job can be...and try juggling that with raising a child and spending time with my husband, while absolutely dying to sit down and write my story. Hopefully it will get better as we move into the school year and I figure out how to manage my time better. Oh, not to mention I was diagnosed with sleep apnea (no wonder I'm always exhausted).  
**

**Well, enough excuses...your here for the story (at least I hope you're still here)**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

It was well into the night and most of the castle's occupants were asleep after the hawking excursion that had occupied most of the court all afternoon. If there was anyone still awake behind their oaken doorways they were oblivious to Prince Tobias's feet shuffling along the cold stone floor as he shuffled through the dank hallway on his way to King Derek's chambers. The young prince had promised the visiting king that he'd visit his chambers after the day's festivities and he was determined to follow through on his vow.

As he approached the doors to King Derek's chambers he put on the sternest expression he could muster and walked up confidently to the guards. "Inform King Derek that the Prince of Georgia is here to speak with him," he ordered in a voice that eerily resembled his father's.

King Derek's two guard's snapped to attention immediately and the one in charge asked, "At once, Sire."

The knight turned and knocked on the door with a clenched fist before opening the door with one hand. "Prince Tobias," he announced to the room and moved off to the side to allow the prince access to the room.

Tobias straightened his clothing and took a deep breath in an effort still his nerves. For he knew King Derek's faith in him was paper thin and he was determined to fully gain the powerful monarch's trust before he walked out of his chambers tonight.

"Prince Tobias! Welcome," called the young king's voice from deep inside the receiving room. "We've just poured ourselves a fresh glass of wine. Please join us."

Tobias's nerves eased a smidgeon as the monarch's warm tone registered in his ears. He smiled at the visiting king and made his way over to the group that had already gathered by the fire.

"King Derek," the youth said formally with a quick bow. "I would love to."

"Here, take the empty seat by Lord Rossi," the king directed as he handed the prince a glass of red wine he had just poured.

"Thank you, m'Lord," Tobias said graciously, accepting the drink and settling into the cushioned seat. He took a sip of the maroon liquid and glanced at the other people in the room.

Lord Rossi was sitting tall and proud in his high-backed chair. The man looked self-assured as always with a curl to his lips and a pipe clenched between his fingers. Next to him sat the bubbly blonde beauty, Lady Penelope. The buxom woman was inspecting him suspiciously with her sparkling blue eyes as she nibbled on a piece of chocolate. Finally, the stoic Sir Hotchner was perched on the edge of his chair with a razor straight back. Tobias wasn't sure if the knight's stiff posture was a symptom of his rigid suit of armor or his distrust of the prince.

Derek brought his golden goblet up to his lips and peered over the edge, his keen eyes eagerly observing how the other's sized up the prince. In contrast, the Prince of Georgia had averted his eyes toward the roaring fire while nervously twisting the stem of his glass in between his thumb and index finger – bearing the scrutiny he knew he deserved.

A particularly loud pop of the fire broke the guarded silence, causing a few of the occupants to jump in surprise.

Lady Penelope let out a nervous giggle and reached for a fresh strawberry off the tray next to her. Before she brought the sweet fruit to her pink lips she smiled and said, "How does this evening find you, Your Grace?"

Tobias blinked, surprised to be addressed so politely by King Derek's friends. "I-I am well, my lady. And you?"

"Tuckered out after all those hours of bouncing up on down on that saddle," she said with a smile.

Tobias smiled weakly, "I despise long rides too. They always leave me achy and sore. It's not worth it if you ask me…that's why I don't mind staying back to mind the castle."

"And is that what you did today? Mind the castle…," Rossi asked with a raised eyebrow.

"M'Lord?"

The older man smirked, "Did you mind the castle or the king that your father has stolen from us?"

"Lord Rossi!" Sir Hotchner hissed, incensed that the Italian had laid all their cards out on the table already.

"What? According to King Derek he already knows who Spencer is. Why tiptoe around it?"

"Because we don't know if he can be trusted," the knight scowled, standing up from his chair in an unconscious effort to use his height to intimidate the timid prince.

Derek was purposefully remaining silent throughout the exchange in order to force Tobias to prove his credibility to Spencer's closest friends.

"True. What say you, young prince? Why shouldn't Sir Hotchner skewer you on his blade and throw your lifeless body to the hogs we saw outside in their pen? You know the true identity of your father's slave – a man you must be loyal to due to blood. How do we know you won't run out of here after our discussion and rat us out?" Rossi inquired with a hint of menace in his voice.

"I won't," Tobias uttered meekly, cowering under the old man's scorching gaze.

Sir Hotchner scoffed at the prince's weak declaration, "I think that says it all." The ringing of steel filled the chamber as the dedicated knight unsheathed his sword. The polished blade looked like it was made of molten rays of sun as it reflected the orange hues of the fire.

The tip of the sword was aimed straight at the young man's heart as the steady hand holding it inhaled a great breath in anticipation of his next movement.

Aaron's arm drew back in preparation when Tobias cried out in alarm, "I won't! I swear!"

"Why? Why should we trust you?" the knight bellowed, his eyes flashing in triumph.

"B-because I h-hate my father. He-he is a ruth-"

"Ha! Everyone hates your father – yet they all kowtow to him. You'll have to think of something better than that," Rossi rebutted.

"B-b-but –" Tobias stammered, looking at Derek in desperation. When the king didn't move a muscle and just kept watching the scene unfold, Tobias turned back to the soldier wielding the sword in front of him. "I-I-I –"

"Enough! Your sniveling is pathetic," the older man stated with disdain. "Finish him, Sir Hotchner."

"Wait!"

"Why should we?" Sir Hotchner prodded, thrusting the tip forward just a tiny bit to intimidate the boy even more.

"B-b-because –"

"Because what? Speak fast for my steel is swift," Aaron warned as his eyes narrowed intensely.

Backed into a corner and desperate to prove his worth, four words slipped past Tobias's lips uncensored, "B-because I love him."

The room was still. Each person was processing the sincerity they heard in the boy's declaration of love.

Derek was the first to move after the echoes of Tobias's admission faded away. He was quick to stand up from his chair and walked over to Sir Hotchner with his chocolate orbs trained on the prince the whole time. Once he reached his friend, he placed his hand gently on the hilt of the sword and pushed it down, lowering its sharp point away from the young man's chest.

Once the weapon was secured at the knight's side once again, Derek allowed a smile to erupt on his face and said, "Excellent. Now let's get to work."


	20. Out the Window

**Hi Friends!**

**I need to thank you guys so much for your support and understanding! I really appreciate it!**

**Thanks for your continued interest in this story and thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favs.**

**And hey, I didn't take a month to update this time :)**

**I did rush to publish this though, so please forgive any mistakes. I wanted to put it up before I went to bed tonight.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" Derek thundered as he shoved open the doors to Charles's personal office and stomped across the hardwood floor.

The king, who had been enjoying a bowl of warm oats with berries sprinkled on top, dropped his spoon and looked up from the piece of parchment he had been reading. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he locked gazes with his infuriated guest. "The meaning of what?" Charles asked smugly as Raphael, who had been standing over his shoulder reading along with him, straightened up and gripped his sword.

Derek's scowl grew deeper at his host's self-satisfied grin, "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Charles pushed his bowl out of the way and gestured to the chair in front of his massive desk. "I assure you, Derek, that I have no idea what you are talking about."

Too angry to even think about sitting down, the visiting king crossed his arms and glared down at the other man. "Don't toy with me, Charles," he growled. "I'm not some naïve young kid and I know when someone is trying to pull my strings."

The other king didn't deign to respond. He just raised his eyebrows and tented his fingers.

Derek huffed out an exasperated breath of air, "Why did you only give me back the women? Where are the men that you took captive?"

Charles stopped trying to hide his grin and leaned his chin on top of his fingers, "Your men? Well, Derek, your men will not be returned to you today. Let's just say that I will be keeping them for…ah…insurance purposes."

"Insurance purposes? Whatever for?" the young king spat out.

"Look, Derek, we may be working on a truce but we haven't officially achieved one yet. Nothing has been signed – there are no guarantees. Only a fool would lay down all his cards in the middle of the game and I…well, I am no fool," the king gloated.

Derek's eyes squinted in anger – at himself and at Charles. How could he have been so stupid to have thought that Charles would make a fair exchange? "Well I don't play games, Charles. So when will I be getting my men back," he gritted out through tight lips.

Charles chuckled. "You don't play games? Dear boy, didn't your daddy teach you that ruling a kingdom is the ultimate game? Come now…we've started toying with one another the moment I stepped into Quantico almost a year ago. It's not my fault that you underestimated me and revealed your hand too quickly. So, to answer your question…I don't know when I'll be releasing your men. If you're lucky maybe I'll allow you to take them home with you on Monday. But then again maybe not…perhaps I'll send you a few every year until our domination of the western half of the continent is complete. You'll just have to wait and see."

The younger king knew that he had been bested at the moment. So instead of sniveling about his loss he drew himself up taller and uncrossed his arms. "Fine then. Lesson learned, I suppose," he admitted begrudgingly.

Charles chuckled. "No doubt, young man. Now, if you'd be so kind as to find your way out. I've some punishments to dole out to the men you've returned to me and I'd like to do it before without an audience."

Derek crinkled his forehead in confusion, "Punishment? Why would you punish them after they've been held captive for so long? Haven't they gone through enough?"

The maniacal laugh that Charles emitted bounced off the walls and echoed in Derek's ears. "Seriously? Did William really neglect your education that much? You watched your father run Quantico for years and yet you took nothing away from him?"

"My father was a cold-hearted man that ruled his kingdom with fear. I tossed all of his so-called lessons to the side and run my country by doing the opposite of what he did – and we are more prosperous because of that," Derek said, defending himself with conviction.

Charles raised his eyebrows, "So you say…but you have no tangible proof of your decisions yet, Derek. You've only started to rule. The consequences of the choices you've made over the last few years haven't made themselves known. Come back and talk to me in another five years and we'll see if you're land is as prosperous as you think it is."

The visiting king's responding words were never heard due to a loud knock at the door. "Enter," Charles called out, standing up from his chair.

The doors behind Derek opened wide and revealed two Georgian knights flanking a familiar man, Carl Buford. The old knight looked haggard and worn down compared to the two men he stood in between. His hair had grown out since he'd been in captivity and it was knotted in clumps. His body was thinner than it was before, the cushion of fat around his waist was now gone and his once rotund belly had receded.

Derek turned around and took in his sworn enemy. He immediately felt a slight surge of triumph when he took in the man's physical appearance but it quickly flitted away when he saw a twinkle of mischief in Carl's brown eyes. Undaunted by Buford's devious look, the proud young man turned back to his host and said, "While I feel as though we have much more to speak about, I think I'll leave our conversation where it lies for now and let you get on with your punishments."

"Yes, let's plan on having our midday meal together and then perhaps we'll spend the day out on the bowling green. I hear you have quite a good arm," Charles said, dismissing his guest.

Derek nodded, "Till then." He then promptly spun around and made his way out of the room, but not before shooting Carl a gloating smirk.

As soon as the neighboring sovereign had left the room Charles sat down at his desk and gestured to his men to bring Carl forward.

The old man was shoved forward brusquely, causing him to stumble as he lurched forward into the center of the room. Charles held up his hand as a signal that the knight had been brought forth far enough, halting the trio in their tracks.

"Ahhh…Sir Buford…are you ready to hear your fate?" Charles asked, straight to the point.

To his credit, Carl's face did not falter at the ominous words that came out of the tyrant's mouth. Instead he bowed low and said obsequiously, "I submit myself to your will, Your Majesty. I know that my performance in Quantico was disappointing and I readily acknowledge that before you here and now. Beyond a doubt I deserve a fitting punishment for allowing your conquest to slip through my fingers. I only ask one thing of you before you send me away to my deserved doom."

Surprise lit up the king's face, "You can't possibly be asking me a favor."

"No…Your Grace. Not a favor. Just a moment of your time is all I request," Carl entreated.

"Whatever for?"

Sir Buford cleared his throat and dared to glance up from his stooped position. "Throughout my time of imprisonment with the enemy I was able to gather some intelligence. I would like to impart this to you now before you silence me forever."

Charles crossed his arms and smirked, "Are you trying to make one last bid for your life? Because I'll tell you right now that whatever it is that you have to tell me, won't prolong your existence even by a breath."

"I wouldn't have thought otherwise," Carl admitted graciously.

With a great huff of air Charles waved his hand, "Then out with it. What is it that you think is so important that I need to know? Because it had better be something that will aid me in negotiations what that twerp that I had successfully vanquished and now must deal with, thanks to your incompetence."

Sir Buford could hear the impatience in the king's voice and quickly launched into his tale before the autocrat could change his mind.

* * *

The mid-morning sun was shining brightly into the king's chambers through the many arched windows carved into the stone wall. Spencer, bored out of his mind at being cooped up in the same room for the past two days, couldn't resist opening the closest pane of glass and letting the fresh air into the room.

A burst of cool air immediately infiltrated the stuffy chamber and wrapped the young man up in its frosty tendrils. Instead of shivering from the sudden contact of the bitter wind, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, relishing its ability to awaken his dulled senses.

Longing for more contact with the fresh air, Spencer pulled at the chain attached to his collar, trying to maximize its length. Once the golden links were stretched as far as they could reach, he climbed up onto the small window ledge and scrunched his body into the frame. Satisfied with his new seat, he tilted his head back against the stone and enjoyed the peace of the moment.

As the scent of the morning dew slowly penetrated his nostrils, the genius found his mind wandering off to happier times and joyous memories. Like that time he had pulled Derek down into the frigid lake water and then he left him there stunned as he galloped away on his horse. Of course, his husband had chased after him and caught him in the barn, toppling him over into the hay and almost kissing him.

Spencer sighed as he thought about how it was after that exhilarating moment that he had started to ponder his feelings for Derek and pined after the love of his life.

Coincidently, it was at that instant that his husband's signature laughter permeated the air from down below.

Spencer cracked open his eyes at the sound and trained them on the rose garden that was located below the king's tower.

There, beneath him, was his dashing mate and a few of his good friends. It looked like they were headed out for a stroll with Prince Tobias. Spencer smiled at the sight for he knew that while they looked like they were out innocently enjoying their day, secretly they were plotting his rescue.

Of course, the only reason he was privy to this information was because the lovesick prince had filled him in about his clandestine meeting with Derek and how they had already started planning Spencer's escape.

Another raucous laugh drew Spencer's attention out of his thoughts and straight into his lover's eyes. He watched as a soft smiled graced Derek's face once their eyes locked. The captive king sat up straighter and risked a little wave. The mighty sovereign flashed him a toothy grin and curled the fingers of his two hands into a heart shape.

The kidnapped king was about to flash the signal back to his partner when the door to the bedchamber slammed open with all the fury of hell.

Wide-eyed and scared out of his mind, Spencer twisted his body around in a tangle of limbs, causing him to tumble out of the window and crash to the floor. He didn't even have time to think about getting up when the chain attached to his collar was tugged viciously, dragging him across the coarse floor and right to King Charles's boot clad feet.

The livid monarch's fingers swiftly hooked on his collar and hauled him off the floor, bringing him face to face with Charles's snarling visage.

"Did you really think I'd never find out who you really are, King Spencer?"

And with that ominous question, Spencer felt his heart drop to his feet as his dream of escaping flew out the open window.

* * *

**Uh-oh...**


	21. I Hope You're Right

**Hi Friends!**

**Sorry it took so long. Thanks for your patience. I could go on and on about how much life gets in the way but I won't bore you. Just know that this story will be completed - never abandoned.**

**Please forgive any mistakes!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The initial punch to his face didn't surprise Spencer at all. And though he knew it was coming, it didn't help to lessen the pain that blossomed as the king's fat knuckles made contact with his fragile cheekbone.

Two.

Three.

Four more hits made contact, knocking his head back and forth with each blow. Stars were shimmering in his eyes as he felt himself freefall to the floor. The cool stone swiftly greeted his already swollen cheeks, soothing the soon to be bruised flesh.

"How long did you really think you could keep up this ruse? Wait. Don't tell me. I bet you thought that Derek would actually be able to swoop in and rescue you. That's why you perked up so much after you found out he was alive. You thought you were going to get free," Charles taunted, kicking the youth in the stomach after each sentence.

Spencer, unable to answer due to the pain coursing throughout his body, could only writhe and cough as he tried to roll away from the strikes raining down on him.

Suddenly, the tyrant king dropped down on one knee and reached out and gripped the boy by his collar. He held the young king in place and leaned down in order to whisper in his ear. "Oh the agony you must have felt - what with seeing your husband within arm's reach, yet not being able to touch him. It must have been horrible," Charles taunted. "But what must be worse is knowing that you are about to die here all alone on this dirty floor when the one you love is just a stone's throw away," he proclaimed, unsheathing his sword and drawing back his arm.

"Now now, brother…don't be so hasty," Raphael called from his position by the doorway.

Charles tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword and squinted his eyes in anger. "What?"

The cocky soldier flashed his brother a crooked grin and slowly stalked over to the window that Spencer had been perched in before the king had thundered into the room. "Hear me out," he said, as he glanced out at the garden.

The king, realizing that his brother had a plan, stood up slowly and positioned the tip of his steel right above his slave's heart. "Speak," he ordered.

"Well, why would you get rid of a toy you enjoy before you're done with it?"

"Go on," Charles encouraged, intrigued by the evasiveness of his brother's question.

"I'm just saying…when we were children a toy ran out of its usefulness once it was broken," Raphael explained.

"And…"

"And, if you want to get rid of your toy that's fine; just make sure that it's broken – irreparable first."

A grin played at the king's lips, "I like where your head is at, brother." The menacing man sheathed his sword and placed his booted foot on the metal collar surrounding Spencer's neck. "I can think of quite a few ways to fracture this beautiful body beyond repair."

"I don't doubt that," Raphael stated smugly. "Huh…this is interesting."

"What is it?" Charles asked, turning toward his brother who was still standing at the window looking out onto the garden below.

"It seems as though your son may have made a few friends," Raphael said slowly.

Charles left Spencer sprawled out on the floor and stomped his way over to look out the window for himself. Once he arrived he leaned through the opening and peered down at the ground below. There he saw his flesh and blood sitting on one of the benches in the center of the garden having a serious talk with Derek and his entourage. Though the young prince did not seem fully comfortable with the group and their discussion, for he kept glancing around nervously throughout the conversation as if looking out for spies.

However, it wasn't until he locked eyes with his son below that Charles was sure that the prince was up to no good. For the moment their gazes met the anxious man seemed to lose all color in his face and his eyes went wide. Tobias then tore his frightened orbs away from his father and cut off the conversation, gesturing toward the castle as if to tell the group of visitors that it was time to go back inside.

Having seen enough, Charles pulled away from the window with a snarl on his lips and stormed back over to the sniveling slave he had abandoned on the floor. "What is the meaning of this? Have you turned my own son against me?"

Spencer, who was curled up on his side clutching his stomach, said nothing as he rode out a wave of pain that was emanating from his stomach.

"I asked you a question, you worthless piece of shit! Now answer me!" he roared, grabbing the chain attached to the collar and pulling the injured youth upright.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he managed to spit out.

"Do not lie to me," Charles growled right in his face, causing the young man to clench his eyes shut in terror. "What did you do to my son?"

"I haven't done anything to him," Spencer cried as his body was jolted back and forth with a vicious shake.

Exasperated, the king let his captive drop to the floor in a heap. "You are a liar. You must have done something to convince him to help you."

Spencer felt something break inside of him at the outlandish accusation. Heatedly, he pushed himself up off the ground and defiantly trained his gaze onto the monarch. "I. Didn't. Do. Anything! It was you! You're the one who pushed your son away. You're the one who belittles him day in and day out. You're the one who has never shown him an ounce of love. You're the tyrant king who has a heart of stone and couldn't give two licks about anyone but himself and the size of his coffers. How can you possibly be surprised that the prince turned on you the second someone paid him an ounce of kindness? He was attention starved and dying for some appreciation. All I did was befriend him and show him that he is worth something. So no, I'm not a liar and I didn't convince him to do anything. It was all you!"

Charles, whose face was a brilliant scarlet by the time Spencer's tirade was over, was so furious at the youth's insolence that he rushed over to the fireplace, grabbed the poker and thrusted into the flames that were licking at the logs. He pushed the enflamed wood around for a few seconds before he clomped back over with the metal rod in hand.

"I'll teach you to disparage me with that filthy mouth of yours," Charles uttered in a low menacing voice as he raised his weapon above his head.

"You can beat me all you want, but it won't change the fact that you brought your son's rebellion on all by yourself," the angry slave retorted boldly.

Crushing the grip of the poker in between his hands the king brought it down and hit Spencer across the face with it. His captive instantly toppled over onto his stomach, cradling his bruised jaw in his bound hands.

Charles eyes flashed with delight at his toy's reaction and proceeded to take advantage of the boy's prone position by flogging his bare back with the burning end of the stick. Over and over he brought the makeshift weapon down, eliciting cries of pain from the slave as the heated point left burns and bruises in a crisscross pattern across his back.

Finally, when the king was winded from doling out a seemingly endless beating he dropped the poker to the ground and toed the boy's battered body over onto his back. The smirk he was wearing on his face was quickly wiped away when he saw threads of insolence still woven throughout the boy's pained visage.

"I can see it in your eyes that you haven't learned your lesson yet. But that's alright, I have all day to break the spirit that still stubbornly resides inside of you. By the time I'm done you'll be a whimpering mass of tears and mucus – so black and blue that your husband won't even recognize you. And speaking of your husband, I'm going make him regret that he ever entered my lands. I am going to kill you right in front of him and then I'll use the same sword that pierces your heart on him," Charles gloated.

"But wait, brother, I have a better idea," Raphael intervened, breaking the silence he had kept ever since he had discovered the prince out in the garden. "How about a joust?"

"A joust?"

"Yes."

"Whatever for?"

"Well, think about it. Who are you angrier at? Derek or the kid here?"

Charles looked down at the beaten boy and seethed, "Him."

"Exactly. So why not break your toy and rid yourself of an advisory in one fell swoop?"

"And how will a joust accomplish that?" Charles asked, intrigued.

"By killing King Derek out on the tilt yard as he participates in a seemingly harmless match with yours truly," the knight said with a devilish grin.

The cold-hearted monarch matched his brother's smirk with one of his own, "You truly are a genius. A Goddamn genius!"

Spencer, who had been forgotten on the floor, pushed the throbbing aches that were assaulting his body to the back of his mind as he forced out one last remark, "Your plan won't work! Derek is too smart to fall for your treachery. He'll see right through your plot and when he does he'll make _you_ regret the day you decided to attack our kingdom. Face it Charles, your end is near – and it will be at my husband's hands."

For once the king didn't rise to the taunt that the slave laid out before him. Instead he turned toward his most trusted knight, "Dear brother, would you be so kind as to go down to the smithy and have him make those adornments I ordered yesterday? Tell him I want them by dinner tonight. Oh, and I want him to use rubies as caps at both ends."

"Of course, Your Highness," the man said, bowing low before he left the room to run the king's errand.

Once the door closed tightly behind his brother's back, the king's eyes narrowed to slits. He slowly knelt down and grabbed the back of the boy's head, tilting Spencer's bony chin upward. "He can try," Charles stated before he leaned in close and captured the youth's bruised lips in a vicious kiss that he ended with a hard bite to the puckered flesh, causing it to bleed. Charles then used his free hand to loosen his belt which allowed his hardened cock to spring forth from the folds of fabric that surrounded it. "But I highly doubt he'll be successful. Anyways, even if he does manage to kill me, why would he want your filthy mouth back? Once he finds out the things you've done in my service – how well you serviced me – I'm sure he'll turn you out on the streets. For what type of king would want a whore for a wife? Now, close your mouth and keep it shut. I don't want to hear a peep out of you while pommel your ass into the ground."

* * *

"A joust?" Derek asked as he swirled the wine in his goblet.

The sun was just about to start its descent down toward the horizon. The last few yellow rays were shining in through the windows and casting shadows about Derek's receiving room, signaling to the king and his friends that supper would be served in about a half an hour.

"Y-yes, sire," Tobias said with a slight stutter. "My father said he wanted to celebrate the amicable joining of our two countries and the contract that you two signed this morning to share the profits generated by the westward expansion. He plans on announcing it tonight at supper. He's going to invite you to participate in it. He wants to pit our best rider against you in a mock battle."

"But we are leaving in two days – all of us. When does he propose to have it? Surely not tomorrow! That would ruin everything," he said slightly panicked at the fact that the rescue plans they had devised that morning might be foiled by Charles's showmanship.

Gingerly, Tobias croaked out an apology. "I-I'm sorry, sire. He has already ordered the servants to start preparing for it."

"And there is no way we can talk him out of it?" Derek implored before he downed the rest of his drink in one big gulp.

"I highly doubt it. Once my father has set his mind to something he usually doesn't change it," Tobias said, shutting down the young man's hopes before they could get too high.

"What if I refuse to participate? Would he still hold it then?"

"Probably. He'd just poke fun at you for bowing out of a challenge and carry on with the rest of the festivities," Tobias explained.

"Damn it!" the king swore. "Now what? We had it all perfectly planned!"

The Georgian prince flinched at the other man's tone. He never reacted well to anger and the fact that it came from the headstrong monarch in front of him didn't help a bit.

Lord Rossi stepped forth before his sovereign could get too heated and took the empty goblet from the youth's hands before he could refill it. "Honestly Derek, this might work out in our favor."

The king sputtered as he reached out and snatched back his chalice. He then walked over to the porcelain jug that held more wine and poured himself a fresh cup. "H-how?" he asked before taking a huge draught of the honey-sweetened drink. "We've spent days planning this down to the tiniest detail. Everything has to play out just right for us to get Spencer out of Charles's grasp and safely back to our camp. Now we have a huge celebration…a joust no less…to work around."

"Well, you've been to your fair share of festivals before...you of all people should know the chaos that ensues throughout the whole day," Rossi said matter-of-factly as he walked up to the king and seized the goblet from the young man's hands. He then walked over to the potted plant by the door and dumped the remaining drink into its black soil.

Sir Hotchner then moved his body in front of the refreshment table that had been set up in the room and folded his hands across his chest. "He's right, Your Grace. There will be so much going on that it might make getting King Spencer out undetected much easier than we thought."

Derek looked back and forth between his faithful soldier and mentor. "Lady Penelope, what do you think?"

The bubbly blonde rushed over to her dear friend and said gently, "Sweetie, I think they're right. This could work to our advantage." She turned her bright eyes onto the prince and asked, "In fact, I'm going to lay odds that the best time to spirit our adorable king away will be during your match against King Charles's man. Everyone in the kingdom will be watching and no one will be paying attention to someone as insignificant as a slave."

"Lady Penelope is right, Your Highness," Sir Hotchner complimented, supporting her claim. He turned toward his king and added, "All eyes will be on you, including Charles's."

"And how will we guarantee that Spencer won't be at Charles's feet during the match?" Derek asked, pointing out what could be a major flaw in their plot.

"I-I could take care of that," Tobias pipped up, seeing an opportunity to help. "M-my father usually puts me in charge of him anyways. I'll just excuse us right before your match and take him to your wagons instead of my father's chambers. You'll still be able to dress him in a spare suit of armor and he can still march out of here with the rest of your men just like we planned."

"See!" Penelope chirped as she pulled Derek into a hug. "Everything is going to work out in the end. We'll get our cutie pie back and Charles will be none the wiser until he sobers up the next morning."

"And by then we'll be long gone, having left before the crow of the cock while the household was still sleeping," Rossi adjoined.

With a heavy sigh, Derek relaxed into the warm embrace of his good friend, "I sure hope you guys are right."


	22. Words as Weapons

**Hi Friends!**

**I hope you all had a happy holiday!**

**Sorry for the wait!**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

* * *

"So Derek, are you up for the challenge?" Charles asked in a good-natured tone.

The young king chuckled, "You should know by now that I never back down from challenge."

"Excellent! Tomorrow will be the greatest send-off we've ever thrown for one of our visitors," Charles bragged, holding up his mug of ale.

Derek brought his mug up and clinked it against Charles's. The two men each took a drink from their cups and relaxed back into their chairs as the courtiers down below them danced to a lively tune.

The visiting king allowed his eyes to rove over the room's occupants, vainly trying to hide his disappointment that his captive lover wasn't present.

In contrast, Charles was scrutinizing his guest – searching him for any sign of weakness. Now that the Georgian king had the proverbial upper hand, he was intent upon using it to his full advantage.

Luckily for him an opportunity to unsettle the confident young man next to him presented itself when Derek chose to itch a patch of skin on his neck, exposing the golden collar that encircled it.

Charles cleared his throat before saying, "Derek, I couldn't help but notice that you seem to wear that hideous golden collar around your neck day in and day out. Is there some meaning behind it? Or are you that out of touch with the newest fashions?"

Caught off guard by the king's question, Derek faltered a bit before answering. He reached his hand up and ran his fingers over the shiny metal and raised jewels. "I-uh…I haven't taken it off since my wedding day."

"Why ever not? You look like a high price harlot prancing around in that day in and day out," Charles goaded purposefully. "Well that or a pampered slave. And who would want to be associated with slaves…those vile creatures," he said with a shudder. "The only reason I keep mine around is because his flesh is so sweet and his moans make my rod stand up straight."

Derek's brow crinkled in a flash of anger. "Sl-slaves…they _are_ the reason I wear this – this so-called garish collar every day. I wear it to show my people that I am opposed to slavery and I swore I'd wear it until every last slave is set free," he said bitterly, as he circumvented the real reason he wore the accessory.

Charles couldn't help but smile at how heated the young man's words had become, "Ahhh, yes…that's right. It's funny that you mentioned that because I always wanted to ask you something."

"What is that?"

"Well for starters, did you realize how hypocritical you were being when you stated that you want all of your people to be free whist you permitted your mother to keep her own personal servant? I mean, you preached all that nonsense that everyone should be treated equal yet you allowed my new pet remain fully enslaved. How was that fair? How could your people take you seriously or believe that your words were true when you contradicted yourself on your first major decree?" the king asked with a smirk.

Flustered, Derek searched his mind for the right words to use to defend himself with but he couldn't find any. There was no way he could tell Charles that Spencer was a free man, that he didn't contradict his proclamation of freedom for all. If he did he would be sentencing his lover to certain death. So instead of giving away his precious secret, he chose to ruin his reputation instead. "Well Charles, I'm sure you did whatever you could to please your mother – and I am no different. She had lived her whole life with a servant at her beck and call. I couldn't just take her favorite boy away from her. What I did instead was talk to the young man and told him that as soon as she no longer favored him he would be set free. I even offered him some compensation for his troubles, and I was to award it to him on his day of emancipation. Reed was very understanding and had no issue with continuing on in my mother's service."

"But you didn't tell your citizens that, did you? Don't they still think that there is one man in your country still enslaved?"

Still weaving his lie, Derek dipped his head and admitted reluctantly, "Yes, they do. And when this is all over I'll take Reed home and liberate him in front of the whole country. Then I'll remove my collar once and for all."

A derisive chortle erupted from Charles's throat, "You might as well take that collar off now then, my friend. For you will not be taking my pet anywhere."

Surprised, the young king looked up at his equal with puzzlement clouding his eyes. "Your pet? You forget, Charles that you promised to deliver all of my men back to me – my mother's slave included!"

"And you forget, Derek, that a slave is not a citizen. When we discussed the return of your men we were only talking about free men, something that Reed is not. He is mine. I took him as a spoil of war, fair and square. He is no different from the other treasures that I looted from your castle," Charles sneered, secretly delighting in how flustered the hotheaded kid was getting.

"We never discussed that stipulation! And now that my mother is – is dead – at your brother's hand I might add, he is a citizen," Derek argued.

"Ah ah ah. He would have been a citizen if he was still on Quantico soil. But he is here in Georgia, and just as much a slave as when I dragged him across our boarders on the back of my horse," the nefarious man countered.

Derek could feel his temper go from a simmer to a rolling boil. He had to break his gaze away from the neighboring king and count backward from ten in order to keep it in check. The youth knew he could not let his fury take over at this moment for there was no telling what he might say if it did.

As his anger started to subside, Derek reminded himself that it didn't matter what Charles said anyways. They were spiriting Spencer out of there on the morrow, right under the tyrant king's nose. After that thought popped into his mind it only took a few more seconds before the younger man felt it was safe for him to talk again. "We are going to have to agree to disagree on this point, dear friend. Perhaps we can revisit it later when we've both had some time to cool down and think things through some more."

"Now that is the wisest thing you've said all night," Charles agreed with a chuckle as he reclined against the high-backed throne. He then snapped his fingers, summoning a servant to refill his mug with more mead before he picked the conversation back up. "Really, though, there isn't anything you could offer me that would get me to let the boy – or should I say toy – go. He's just too delectable, too pliable, too…too fuckable," Charles said uncouthly.

Deigning not to respond to the king's crude words, Derek brought his mug up to his lips and hid the seething rage that was smoldering behind his eyes once again.

Charles, fully enjoying the game he was playing with the young man's emotions, continued on as if he was unaware of Derek's reaction to his words. "It's a pity the whore couldn't be here with us tonight. I really need to learn to not get carried away when I'm punishing him or else he won't last through the end of the year," he said offhandedly.

The youth sat up straight at the man's nonchalant remark. "What did you do?"

"Don't you mean, what did he do?" the Georgian king corrected.

"No, I mean what did you do to him? Is he alright?"

"Don't worry about it, my friend. My toy isn't your concern anymore. What I choose to do with him; or rather do to him shouldn't bother you anymore."

"Charles," Derek gritted out between his teeth. "What did you do to him?"

"Ah, Derek, you see…your weakness is that you care about the people beneath you way too much," Charles scolded. "But if you really must know I beat him senseless for lying to me and then I speared him with my rod until he was a writhing mass of pitiful flesh on my floor. He'll be walking with a limp for the next week if he manages to get up from the floor where I left him before I came to dinner."

The color had drained out of Derek's face as he pictured his beloved bruised and bleeding on the floor of the king's bedchamber. "W-What did he lie to you about? What was so bad that he deserved such harsh treatment?"

A mirthful smile erupted on the man's haggard face as he committed the young king's forlorn appearance to his memory. "Honestly Derek, that's none of your business. But I promise I'll drag him out to the joust tomorrow so you can see for yourself the state he is in," Charles pledged as if he was doing Derek a favor. "Now then, I'm dying for a sweet treat after that tasty dinner. Let's drop this droll topic eat some dessert instead. I heard the cook came up with a new type of concoction that resembles a cake but when you cut into the center a scrumptious chocolate sauce oozes out."

Knowing that he wasn't going to get any more details out of the vile man, Derek begrudging accepted the pastry and picked at it with his fork. Try as he might he couldn't get the horrid image of a wounded Spencer out of his head and he knew that he had to try to see him tonight. So he waited for a few dances to pass before he politely excused himself. He told Charles that he needed to get to bed if he wanted to be in tiptop fashion for tomorrow's joust. The neighboring king seemed to buy his excuse for he voiced no opposition to Derek's early departure. Though, if youth had turned around on his way out of the doors he would have noticed the triumphant sneer that painted the older man's lips

* * *

Spencer stared into the smoldering embers of the dying fire with lifeless eyes. He had been tossed in front of the enormous stone fireplace after the king had brutally taken him over the arm of the divan. The assault had left his backside burning, the sensation serving as a cruel reminder of the trauma he had just experienced at the monarch's harsh hands.

Now, he was lying on the cool stone floor which was sparsely covered by filthy rushes. Sharp pieces of straw poked his exposed skin but he couldn't do anything about it due to the fact that his hands were fastened behind his back. On top of that discomfort, his body ached all over as the pain seemed to match the beating of his heart. In fact, the genius swore that every time the organ thumped each injury throbbed in time with it. Without a doubt, the slave knew that come morning his body would be peppered with black and blue bruises, covering him almost like a macabre sort of camouflage.

Suddenly a shiver overtook his body as a waft of cold air burst forth from the fireplace in front of him. The youth's broken form shuddered in an effort to bring him some warmth but the meek shivering did nothing for him. The boy knew he was meant to be cold and alone; love and happiness, the warmest emotions one could experience, were never to be his again. For on the morrow his love was to be murdered right before his very eyes.

That somber thought brought Charles's final words of the night back to the forefront of his mind. And the memory of what the man uttered before he left the limp-limbed slave caused a fresh round of tears to trickle out of his muted brown eyes.

"You better wish tonight lasts forever because tomorrow morning your husband will breathe his last breath."

Damnit!

He had come so close!

So close to freedom.

So close to reuniting with his friends and family.

So close to Derek.

And now the small grains of hope that he had been building up since Lord Rossi arrived have been scattered to the wind and with them rode the life of his beloved.

A strangled cry escaped his lips as his body gave up on trying to contain all the anguish that was flowing through his veins.

"If only I wasn't so useless," he whispered derisively. "Than none of this would have ever happened."

"So you agree? You recognize that you're a pitiful excuse for a king?" came a mocking voice from across the room.

Spencer closed his eyes in a vain attempt to block out Raphael's taunt.

"Well?"

With a huff, the captive king opened his eyes and spat out with bravado, "I recognize that in my current state I may appear quite pathetic but with my hands free I think you would find me rather ferocious."

The knight laughed out loud at Spencer's stupidly courageous words and clapped his hands together. "It's amazing to me how you can continuously muster such bold words when you are at the mercy of my brother's whims. You seem to have no sense of self-preservation when it comes to speaking what is on your mind," Raphael said as he slowly walked over to the prone prisoner, clutching something tightly in his right fist.

Black booted feet appeared in front of the boy's face. The toes were scuffed and dirty, seemingly covered in dust and dung. "And you seem to have no mind of your own," he said snidely to the man's feet. "Tell me, do you feel good going to sleep at night knowing that you're just your brother's lap dog? Don't you ever make any decisions for yourself? A true man does not need a monarch to guide his every move. A _true_ man makes his own choices, regardless of whether or not they fit with the king's tastes. Consequences be damned!"

Spencer knew what was coming next and clenched his eyes shut in anticipation. It didn't take long for Raphael to draw back his right foot and send it crashing right into the slave's jaw. "You insolent little whore," he bellowed as he dropped down to his knees and grabbed the boy's chin. "You know nothing about being a true man. You've spent your whole life following other people's orders, from them telling you to empty out a chamber pot to sucking my brother's dick. You've never had the opportunity to make your own decisions – not even as co-king. Admit it! You let Derek run the country while you sit back and look pretty – just like every other queen out there. So you can just shut your mouth about what it means to be a true man because you have no idea."

The boy tore his chin out of the other man's grasp and muttered, "You have no idea what you're talking about! I'm Derek's equal in every way."

"Ahh, that's cute. He's made you believe that you matter, when really you were just a pretty face seated on the throne next to him," the intimidating knight taunted.

For the first time that day, it was Spencer's turn to smile. "You can believe that all you want. But in the end, Raphael, it's you who's been fooled into thinking that you mean something. Your brother doesn't care if you live or die as long as you do what you're told."

A venomous hiss snaked out from between Raphael's clenched teeth as his eyelids scrunched down into slits. And like the legless reptile his features came to resemble, he wasted no time striking out at his prey. His meaty fist crashed into the prisoner's upper cheekbone, knocking the boy onto his back on top of his bound hands.

Spencer, who was now seeing stars as a result of the blow, couldn't help but utter one last barb. "It hurts to hear the truth. Doesn't it?"

With a sneer Raphael sat on top of the boy's abdomen. He reached his left hand down and placed it on Spencer's forehead with enough pressure to immobilize the slave. He then leaned down and stared the captive straight in the eye. "Nothing you say can hurt me. Don't you get it yet? Your words mean nothing because you are nothing. Now then," he said as he settled his weight down, "I think you've said more than enough for one day. In fact, I think you've said more than enough for one lifetime." The knight then brought up his right hand and opened it up, showing off its glittering contents to his prisoner.

"W-what are those?" Spencer asked with wide eyes, all thoughts of copping an attitude flying from his mind with one glance at the objects.

"These are what I'm going to use to seal those pretty little lips of yours shut with," Raphael said with merriment twinkling in his eyes.

* * *

Derek pulled to a halt a few feet away from King Charles's chamber doors. He straightened his doublet and adjusted his sword at his waist before he stalked forth to greet the knights standing guard.

The two men stiffened when they realized that Derek was coming straight toward them. They brought their spears closer to their bodies and trained their emotionless stares on the visiting king.

Derek didn't give them any time to question him; rather he skirted their queries by jumping right in with his demand. "Open the doors. I am here by order of the king to check on the wellbeing of his slave," he announced in his most regal voice.

The man on the left glanced at his partner before he asked, "Do you have any proof of these orders?"

The young king scowled, "You dare question me? Sir Knight, I may not be your sovereign but I am a king in my own right. No one questions me! When I speak you listen. Is that not the way of your king too?"

"I-I'm sorry, Sire," the gullible man said with a bow. "I-I apologize for my impudence. Please forgive me."

Derek waved off the man's request with a flick of his hand. "Open the doors."

The two simultaneously reached for their respective handles and pulled the doors open wide. They saluted the visiting monarch as he walked by and closed the doors behind him.

As soon as the wooden barrier closed with a thud Derek scoured the room with his eyes, looking for his beloved's form. Unfortunately, the receiving chamber was empty and there was no sign of his husband anywhere.

Familiar with the layout of the chamber's due to his previous visit, Derek decided to check the bedroom next. He stalked over to the sturdy door and put his ear to the wood. He strained his ears as he listened for any sign of life, hesitant to call out to his lover out of fear that Spencer wasn't alone. Alas, the only sound he could discern was a muffled cry of pain.

Worried out of his mind for the man he loved, Derek reached for the ornate golden knob on the door and turned it. He was in the middle of pushing the door open when the wood seemed to catch on something large. Confused, he put all his strength into shoving the door open further but it wouldn't budge another inch.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

"I can assure you that hell has nothing to do with why this door won't open, Your Grace," Raphael said succinctly as his face appeared in the narrow crack between the door and the jamb.

"Raphael, let me in there right now. I need to talk with my mother's former slave," Derek demanded.

"I think not, Sire. For my brother left specific instructions that his whore was to remain isolated until tomorrow's joust," the knight explained smoothly.

"And why is that?"

"Because he needs time to heal, Your Grace."

"Heal from what?" the king asked even though he already knew the answer.

The king's brother flashed the visiting monarch a toothy grin, "His punishment, of course."

"But I need to speak with him tonight. I order you to make an exception," he commanded with his sternest voice.

Raphael's face darkened at Derek's brash decree. "You can demand entry all you want, Sire, but I do not answer to you. Now see yourself out!" the knight bellowed before slamming the door right in the young man's face.

The second the barrier slid back into place Derek tried the doorknob again only to find it already locked. Undeterred, he smashed his fist into the door over and over as he yelled, "Raphael, let me in right now. You have no right to deny my request. I am a king and you are a servant!"

Seconds later a screech of pain pierced the air followed by the knight's husky voice, "You are only a king in Quantico. Here your title means nothing. Now I suggest you get out of here before Charles gets back or else you might not get to see my brother's whore at the joust tomorrow."

Unsure as to what the man's threat entailed, Derek slowly backed away from the door. "Alright, I'm going," he called through the wood reluctantly.

There was no answer except for another moan of pain.

The young king picked up his pace and made his way quickly out of the main doors. He didn't even acknowledge the guards as he rushed past them. With swift steps he made his way back to his room where he immediately dispatched Sir Hotchner, who had been waiting for him in his guest rooms, to gather Lord Rossi, Lady Penelope and Prince Tobias from the feast. For the events of the night had left a sour taste in his mouth and it was funny how they all seemed to be in some way connected to Spencer and the impromptu joust that he was set to participate in tomorrow.


	23. Let the Games Begin

**Hello Friends!**

**Yay! You didn't have to wait another month for an update. You can thank winter break for that! But seriously, school is back in session tomorrow so I will do my best to update as soon as I can.**

**Thank you all for the reviews, follows and favorites. I'm so glad that you are still following this story. Thank you so much for being patient too!**

**We aren't far from the end now...only a few more chapters to go.**

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**Enjoy!**

* * *

The next day there were over a hundred Georgian servants out preparing the grounds for the tournament before the sun even broke the horizon. There was much to do and not very much time to do it left.

The men were in charge of repairing any worn out rails and posts in the tilt yard. They erected a brand new fence to separate the two jousters and built extra stables to house the influx of horses. In contrast, the women were scurrying around decorating every post, fence, and tree with colored ribbons and bows. They were also applying the king's monogrammed bunting to his personal observation box and arranging the furniture inside of it to ensure the perfect view of the games.

Out in the stables the grooms were already preparing the horses by brushing out their manes and applying their tack. Once a horse was deemed ready a squire would lead it out of the stable for warm-up exercises.

Meanwhile, high up above the hustle and bustle of the frenzied workers King Charles was sound asleep with one arm wrapped possessively around the narrow waist of his "toy."

Spencer, who hadn't slept a wink the night before, was lying on his left side, facing the window that he'd been yanked out of yesterday. His arms were no longer bound behind him; rather they were tethered to the headboard via the same loop that his collar was attached to by its chain. His body's position was extremely awkward but necessary because otherwise he'd have been on his back with Charles nestling into the crook of his neck.

That's not to say that Spencer didn't try to dislodge the man throughout the night, but even a slumbering Charles was a stubborn one. For every time the genius tried to wiggle out of the king's hold the other man seemed to squeeze his prey even tighter. In the end, the younger man realized he wasn't going to get free of the king's grip and gave up, surrendering himself to the feeling of Charles's meaty fingers splayed across his abdomen for the remainder of the night.

Thankfully once he'd admitted defeat against the controlling hold the Georgian king had over him, he was able to focus his mind on more important things – namely, Derek.

He stared out the window at the dark night sky and allowed visions of his lover to play out in his mind. He thought about how soft and loving Derek's arms were when compared to Charles's. He remembered the twinkle in his eyes that his husband would get whenever Spencer walked into the room. He envisioned the reunion the two of them would have had if Derek were to somehow make it through the next day alive.

Alive.

He needed his best friend and lover to stay alive.

Spencer kicked his legs out in frustration, heedless of waking the man next to him.

It just wasn't fair!

He'd already gone through the ordeal of losing Derek once. He'd already become a shell of his former self when he believed that his husband had been killed out on the battlefield. He'd lived the past year in a darkened haze of hopelessness, slowly wasting away because he had nothing left to live for.

He couldn't go through that again!

Especially not when beyond his wildest dreams his husband had walked into King Charles's throne room alive and well – intent on rescuing his lover from the nightmare he'd been enduring at the malicious ruler's merciless hands.

His hopes of going home and leaving this traumatic ordeal behind him had risen so high. He couldn't bear to watch them come crashing down again.

On top of that, there was no way he'd be able to live with the guilt of Derek's death hanging over his head. For Spencer knew deep down that if his husband was to die today it would be all his fault.

Derek would have never been put in this position if it weren't for Spencer's cowardice. If he'd have just stood up and admitted to Charles who he was than his mother would still be alive and his husband wouldn't be in the danger he was in now.

Right then and there Spencer knew that he had to throw caution into the wind and show the courage he lacked the day he was abducted. He had to make sure Derek got out of the land of Georgia alive, with or without him.

But how?

How could he do anything trussed up the way he was?

Charles had a tight hold over him, figuratively and literally. How was he going to rescue his lover when he couldn't even free himself?

Maybe if he –

Suddenly a deafening crash permeated the air, sufficiently disrupting the course of Spencer's thoughts and waking up the snoozing man next to him.

"What the hell? Can't I get a decent night's sleep for once?" Charles growled, curling his finger into the slave's bruised skin. Spencer's body went ridged as he felt his body pulled backwards, deeper into the king's chest.

"Damn…there's no way I'm going back to sleep now," the king snarled in the boy's ear. "I oughta have them strung up by their necks from the gallows for disturbing me. What do you think of that?"

The monarch let out a chuckle as he rolled Spencer onto his back and sat up next to him. He then leaned over the young man and brush his gnarled knuckles along the boy's swollen cheek. "What? You have nothing to say?" he teased, running his fingers across the three sparkling ruby studs spread out above Spencer's upper lip.

The young man squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation. He badly wanted to spit out a biting retort but Raphael had ensured his voice would remain contained after he pierced Spencer's lips shut last night using the embellishments commissioned by the king.

The instruments the knight used were crescent shaped ornaments that resembled a woman's earrings. Only they were made in such a way that one of the rubies could be unscrewed from one end, uncovering a sharp point. So, Raphael had pinched Spencer's plump lips together and jabbed the honed tips through the supple skin under the boy's bottom lip and guided them to come out above the top one. He then screwed the ruby caps back onto the crescent rings, effectively sealing the youth's mouth shut.

Charles's eyes gleamed with mirth when he saw that the young boy had opened his eyes to glower back at him. "Really now, you don't need to look so cross. I mean, did you really expect me to allow you the gift of speech with all that you know? I couldn't have you spoiling our surprise by telling my son or one of your friends about our plan," the king explained with condescension tinting his voice. "Anyways, these look quite lovely on you. They really draw attention to that talented mouth of yours. Though, they do look a bit inflamed…but honestly your face is so black and blue that no one will notice the tiny bit of swelling they've caused."

The king continued to tease his slave by playing with the jewelry. At one point he irritated one so much it started to bleed a little. So he gathered the blood on his finger tip and held it up in front of his piercing eyes. A small grin lit his face as he took his moistened finger and applied the red tacky liquid to Spencer's lips. "A bit of color does your lips good. Maybe later we can see how your husband's blood looks on you."

If Charles was looking to cause a reaction in his young charge then he was successful. For upon hearing the man's uncouth taunt, Spencer brought his free knee up and nailed the king in between his legs.

Taken by surprise, the monarch rolled off of the boy's body and clutched his battered organ. His animalistic groan brought Spencer a sense of satisfaction at finally being able to cause the king pain. Of course, he knew that his rash decision would be met with a harsh consequence but he was glad he did it anyways.

When Charles finally pushed beyond the crippling pain that came with being kicked in the groin he slithered back over and grabbed the captive's chin. "You're going to regret that!"

Spencer tried to free his chin by jerking his head to the side but he couldn't break Charles's ironclad grip. So he showed his disdain by breathing deeply in and out of his nose which caused his nostrils to flare with every breath.

"I was going to spare you the pain of watching your other friends die but now – now I'm going to give you a front row seat. I'm going to have them all drawn and quartered out on the green tomorrow. And your husband – well, he is still going to die today but now I'm going to make sure his head sits on a pike outside on the balcony, where you're going to sleep until his flesh rots and becomes food for the carrion birds," the monarch spat with venom.

"Nff," the young king tried cry out in protest but his mouth barely cracked open before the piercings started to tug his tender skin.

Charles laughed at the helpless young man and rolled off the bed. He then grabbed the bell on his bedside table and shook it back and forth. His head groomsman promptly entered the room, "You rang, Your Highness."

"Yes, it's time to get dressed. But before we start have someone bring breakfast up. Oh, and send word to my brother that I want to see him before we go down to the tiltyard."

"As you wish, Sire," the man said, bowing low before he ran over to the door and gave the other gentlemen of the chamber their instructions. Then he shut the door and went straight to the wardrobe where he started rifling through the king's garments in search of the perfect outfit for a joust.

Spencer, who had observed the whole exchange from the bed, sat up and scooted his body back toward the headboard. Once he reached the head of the bed he had enough slack in his chains to wrap his arms around his body.

Charles watched as the young man curled into himself while his usher dressed him. When his last garment was cinched the king turned toward his servant and said, "Go fetch the slave's red outfit and set it out for me. I'll be putting it on him after I've doled out his punishment."

"Yes, Sire," the loyal man stated.

Charles, whose eyes hadn't left Spencer's face, felt a jolt of arousal stir in his loins when the slave's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "What? You didn't think you were going to get away without any punishment, did you?"

* * *

A couple of hours later Derek was out in the tiltyard dressed in a full suit of armor waiting for the joust to start. He was joined by Sir Hotchner, Sir Kassmeyer, and Lord Rossi. They were standing around in the stable where Derek's horse, Thunderhead, was housed.

Derek, who looked calm on the outside but was on edge inside, started pacing his horse's stall to help ease his nerves. "Are we sure this is the only way?" Derek asked his friends, even though he already knew the answer to his question.

"Yes, Your Grace. After what you shared with us last night, this is the best course of action," Sir Hotchner said grimly.

"But what – what if –"

"Look son," Lord Rossi broke in, "we talked through all of our options last night. We all agreed that this way makes the most sense. We are all aware of the dangers and we are all ready to face the consequences." He stepped up to the worried young man and grabbed his shoulders, forcing Derek to look him in the eye. "We will get King Spencer back in your arms by tonight, but you need to accept that there may be some injuries – maybe even some casualties."

Derek broke out of Lord Rossi's grip, "I can't accept that and you can be sure as hell that Spencer can't either. If one of you were to – to die today trying to rescue him…he'll be…no, we'll both be devastated. Can't you understand that?"

"King Derek, Sire, we do understand that. But we all knew that this rescue could result in our deaths. We knew that from the beginning before we set foot out of the castle in Quantico," Sir Kassmeyer interjected. "Anyways, it is my job to die for you – both of you. Sire, there is nothing nobler for a knight than sacrificing themselves for their king. It's what we trained for; it's what we live for."

"He's right, Your Highness. This is our job. We entered the knighthood for the honor of protecting our sovereigns. To ask us to step away when you need us the most is almost insulting," Hotchner said seriously.

Derek looked at the men with sorrowful eyes, "But you are not just knights. You are my good friends too!"

"Yes, and to be labeled as one of your friends is an honor and only makes us want to help you and Spencer more," Rossi added. "So stop allowing your guilt get the best of you. What will be, will be."

Derek was so overwhelmed by his friends' compassion and dedication that he couldn't help but walk up to each one of them and wrap them in a gigantic hug.

When he stepped back out of his embrace with Sir Kassmeyer he cleared his throat and said, "I-I can't express how grateful I am for all of you right now. You've helped ground me throughout this whole ordeal and I don't know where I'd be without you."

The three mem murmured quite, "Your welcomes."

"Alright," Derek continued, "It's time to get ready. Do we know if Lady Penelope and Prince Tobias are in place?"

"Yes, I saw them seated in King Charles's box waiting for the joust to begin," Sir Hotchner reported with his stoic mask back in place.

"Good. Now, do we have my lance?"

"It's right over here," Sir Kassmeyer said, retrieving the instrument in question.

Derek walked over and grabbed the weapon below the vamplate, the circular plate that prevents the hand from sliding further up the shaft, and turned it back and forth. "It's well balanced and the tip is nicely blunted. While I don't like the idea of using borrowed equipment, I have to say they gave me an excellent weapon."

Lord Rossi took the lance from Derek and inspected it. "I agree. This weapon has finesse. Suitable for a king, no less," he said before clutching it in the crook of his arm like a jouster would hold it.

"With a lance this fine Raphael will be unseated in one round," Sir Hotchner stated.

"True, but if this is the quality of the weapons they lend out to their competitors then it makes me wonder how much better Raphael's will be," Derek pondered out loud.

Rossi handed the lance back to Sir Kassmeyer and walked over to Derek. He grabbed the young man's hands and said, "Do not worry about it. In the end, the quality of the weapon does not matter. What matters is what is in the heart of the warrior wielding it."

Derek gave the man he look at like a father a faint smile and squeezed his hands. He was about to say something back but the blare of a trumpet disrupted their discussion.

The joust had officially started.

* * *

Lady Penelope, Prince Tobias and a few other courtiers were already seated in the box when the king's usher pushed back the curtain and announced his arrival. As proper, they all stood up and bowed to the monarch as he entered his personal box. They maintained their respectful positions as the man swept past their seats, pulling a hobbled form behind him.

Penelope and the others stood up once the king had been seated. Seeing her opportunity to start the morning off right she chirped, "Good morning, Your Highness."

"That it is, my lady," he replied flippantly.

She scrunched up her face at his response and looked over to Tobias, who shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah, g-good morning, father," the prince said meekly, testing out the waters for himself.

The king whipped his head around at the sound of his son's voice and glared at him. "Why aren't you down in the stables preparing your horse, son?" he asked contemptuously.

Taken aback by his father's scornful question, Tobias started to stutter, "I-I ah…I-I thought it would b-be more b-b-beneficial to watch the s-seasoned knights. T-that way I could learn some of their moves."

"Ha! My son the wimp. Just admit that you are too scared to participate," Charles mocked. The king looked over to the box's other occupants and jeered, "It figures that my son chose not to participate in the tourney today. There isn't a brave bone in his body."

The guest courtiers laughed nervously along with their king.

"Well then son, take your seat and watch away, just like every other woman up here," he sneered.

Tobias, who had paled in response to his father's hostile speech, dropped his head in shame and sat in his cushioned seat.

Penelope, desperate to come to the prince's rescue, pipped up, "Honestly, I don't blame him. I would be way too scared to face down the tip of a lance on top of a galloping horse."

The ruler's dark eyes flashed at her words and pinned her to her seat. "I don't recall asking you for your opinion, my lady. For the word of a woman, a woman not of this land no less, means nothing to me. I advise you to keep your mouth closed for the rest of the tournament or else I'll have my men escort you from the premises and straight into the dungeons. Because while you may be close friend of my guest I don't find you to be any better than this whore at my feet. So do not address me so casually, my dear, for we are nowhere near to being equals."

The bubbly blonde lifted a hand to her mouth in order to cover her surprise. She blinked owlishly at the angry king in disbelief but wisely said no more.

Charles smirked at her cruelly before jerking on the golden chain attached to his slave. He pulled the boy up from the position he had been sitting in on the side of his chair and said, "It seems as though all the people in your land have wayward tongues, my lady. I have fixed the problem with this one. Do not make me do it to you too."

Penelope gasped with shock when her eyes laid on her sovereign. He was dressed in a pair of red sheer harem pants that were gathered at his ankles. Each pant leg had a slit up the side that traveled from his ankle to the top of his thighs. At the waist of the pants was cinched a golden belt that had small gilt coins dandling from tiny golden links. His chest was bare except for a large collar that matched the belt. It was an extravagant piece that spanned Spencer's shoulders and had hundreds of dangling jewels and coins tinkling together every time the young king moved.

Though his outfit was exquisite, Penelope could tell that her friend was miserable underneath. Every patch of skin that she saw was painted with some sort of bump, bruise, or scar. His exposed chest was black and blue all over, a clear sign that he had been beaten. His wrists, which were once again bound behind his back, were swollen and red due to the tight bands that encircled them. His ankles were in a similar state to his wrists, but this time a length of chain bound them together making it so he had to struggle to walk. Finally, his face was an utter nightmare; it was swollen and mottled with bruises. He would have been almost unrecognizable if it weren't for his big brown eyes shining through all the pain.

"I see you don't approve of my treatment of this young man," Charles said haughtily to Penelope. "But let me tell you this, he earned each and every one of those wounds with his razor sharp tongue." The king then jerked the chain leading from Spencer's original silver collar downward, forcing the young man back to the ground. He then raised his hand in the air and signaled to the master of ceremonies to get the tournament started.

* * *

**Here we go!  
**


	24. The Dark Before the Dawn

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks so much for all the follows, favorites and reviews.**

**Oh and I cannot thank you enough for nominating me and this story for a Profilers Choice Award. I cannot tell you how flattered I am that you like this story that much! So THANK YOU!  
**

**P.S. Thanks also if you took part in nominating my other stories "The Raven" and "Solivagant" too!**

**So um...I hate to ruin the mood but WARNING: Character death coming up - like now.**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Spencer felt his eyes well up a little as he was pushed back onto the rough wooden floor of the king's personal box. He hated seeing the hurt look on Penelope's face when she saw his state of being. He knew that her kind heart was breaking in two at his treatment and that it was killing her to stay in character; she just didn't have it in her to remain aloof when faced with his harsh handling.

The trill of a trumpet suddenly cut through his thoughts. The tournament was starting and the first pair of knights were taking their places down in the tiltyard below. There the two vastly different horses lined up with their owners along opposite sides of the fence. The men who were about to take off at full gallops toward each other were both ranked soldiers in Charles's army. They were the appetizer round in what was sure to be a full course meal of exciting matches.

Uninterested in the outcome of this match, Spencer allowed his eyes to wander the whole arena in the hopes that he would catch a glimpse of Derek preparing for his match. Unfortunately, the only thing visible from the king's box were the bleacher seats erected across the way and the gates leading to the stables at either end of the tilt barrier.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw a white handkerchief drift down to the floor next to him. The sound of hooves clomping through the dirt followed immediately afterwards before a loud clash of steel sounded throughout the stadium. The crowd's cheers were deafening to the youth's ears but the peasant's yells did not block out Charles's laughter at the loser below.

"Did you see that?" the king exclaimed to no one in particular. "Sir Horatio didn't even stand a chance. He couldn't even lift his lance high enough to scrape Sir Edward's toe, let alone his shield. There is no way this match is going to go three rounds – he'll be unseated next time for sure." Charles reached down and grabbed the golden bell that was perched on the table next to his makeshift throne and rang it. An usher immediately emerged from the curtained area behind the seats and bowed low.

"How may I be of service, Your Majesty?" the young man asked.

"You can go down to the Master of the Ceremonies and tell him to declare this match over! I'm not out here to watch amateurs. I want to see a real joust!" the king bellowed. He then reached his hand down and grabbed the short hair on Spencer's head, forcing the slave to look him in the eye while he said, "Inform him that I want to see the battle between my brother and King Derek next."

"At once, sire," the servant said before bowing out.

A Cheshire grin erupted on the king's haggard face. "I hope you've said your goodbyes because soon your husband's blood will color the ground of the tiltyard red and his head will rest on a pike – and there is nothing you can do about it," he whispered menacingly, ensuring those around them couldn't hear.

* * *

Derek was pacing Thunderhead's stable once again when a breathless squire ran up to him and bowed.

"Your Highness, I bring a message from the Master of the Ceremonies," the lad uttered anxiously.

"Go on," he ordered, waving his friends over so they could hear the news too.

"He wanted me to inform you that King Charles decided to move your match against Sir Raphael up next, Your Grace."

"He what?" Derek demanded incredulously.

"Uh – um, well…apparently the king was displeased with the first contenders and wants to watch a more exciting match…yours, uh – Your Grace. The Master of Ceremonies said you have ten minutes before you are to report to your designated spot."

"I don't believe this," Derek bellowed, turning his back on the young man. He stomped over to Thunderhead and started to check the horse's tack.

Lord Rossi, who dismissed the messenger for Derek, walked over and stayed Derek's hand. "He did this on purpose. Tactically, he is trying to throw us off our game."

"So you think he knows why we are really here?"

Rossi shrugged his shoulders and squeezed Derek's hand, "You said it yourself last night. Something fishy is going on…and this only helps support your suspicions. We must go forward with our new plan of action."

"He's right, Your Highness," Sir Hotchner agreed.

Derek stared long and hard at Lord Rossi before he closed his eyes in defeat. He nodded his head and stepped back from his mighty steed, relinquishing his ownership to Thunderhead's new rider, "Then let's get on with this."

* * *

Penelope turned her panicked expression toward Prince Tobias upon hearing King Charles's demands. "What do we do now?" she hissed.

Tobias glanced over at his father and saw that he was preoccupied with taunting Spencer. He turned back to his friend and said, "Exactly what we were going to do before."

"But – "

Tobias shook his head at her, silently begging her to stay the course.

She nodded her head back at him, reassuring the prince that she knew what she had to do.

The once bubbly blue-eyed blonde stood up tall from her seat and cleared her throat. "Would you mind escorting me to the privy, Prince Tobias?"

"Excuse me, my lady?" the prince asked incredulously.

"Well, I figured that now was the perfect time to go since there is a break in all action. And you can't expect a lady like me to walk around your lands unescorted. Who knows who might accost me on my way?" she said innocently.

Tobias scoffed loudly, a gesture he was sure would make his father proud. "My lady, I think you mistake me for some commoner. I am the prince of this land and I do not escort _anyone_ _anywhere_ – especially not to the privy."

Charles, who was eating up every word of their conversation clapped his son on the back, "Well spoken, my son. It's about time you acted like you have royal blood flowing through your veins."

On the outside the prince preened underneath his father's praise but inside he cringed at his condescending words. Regardless of how crooked his next words would make him feel, Tobias pushed forth with the act, "Besides, the job of escorting someone like you – a visitor from our rival kingdom - should go to the lowest of the low; like my father's slave for example."

Penelope screwed up her face on cue, trying to show disdain at Tobias's supposed insult. "I-I suppose he'll due; if he's all you have to offer me," she said, trying not to show a hint of hopefulness as she looked over to Charles.

Unfortunately, the second their eyes met Penelope knew that Tobias had said the wrong thing. Gone was the proud father and in his place was the malicious man who held her friend's freedom in his hands. "I'm afraid that even my slave is too good for the likes of her," the king spat scornfully, incensed that he now had proof that his own son was trying to betray him. Charles then held up his hand and snapped his fingers, signaling the guard that was standing behind him to come forth.

"Your Grace."

"The lady over there is in need of the privy," he started.

"Of course, Your Highness."

"I wasn't finished, you fool!" Charles growled.

"Forgive me, your Grace," the knight said with a quiver in his voice.

Charles took a deep breath and fixed his narrowed eyes on Lady Penelope's blanching face. "As I was saying, the lady is in need of the privy. Escort her immediately to the cell we already have prepared for her down in the dungeons," he ordered. "I'm sure the bucket in the corner will meet your needs, my lady."

The knighted bowed low before quickly walking over to the blonde and clamping his hand down on her bicep. He forced her out of the box before she could utter even one protest.

Tobias, with his mouth hanging open wide at the turn of events, spun around toward his father. "Father, why –"

Charles cut his son off with the flip of a hand and a scowl on his lips. "Stand before me, son."

Nervously, Tobias stepped in front of his father's throne.

"Kneel."

The prince did as instructed.

"Look at me."

The monarch-in-training raised his head and steadied his gaze on his father. He briefly saw the king's frown transition into a smirk before he felt the backside of Charles's hand make contact with his cheek. Tobias fell to the ground and tried to blink the stars away. He lifted a hand to his nose and felt a warm substance rub off onto his skin. When he pulled back his fingers to look at them he saw a trickle of blood painting their tips.

"Leave us," Charles commanded to audience in the box. "Leave us at once!" he shouted as the stunned courtiers moved like they were walking through molasses.

The sovereign waited until the monogrammed curtains swished closed behind the last sycophant's body before he spoke to his son again.

"You will never question me again," the man seethed through is teeth. "I did not rise to power by explaining myself to those beneath me."

Tobias struggled to his knees once again, "I-I'm sorry, father. I-I just wanted to understand."

"Understand what? Why I was arresting one of your fellow conspirators? Why I was ruining your plans to rescue this piece of filth next to me?" Charles asked contemptuously.

The prince's head snapped up at his father's questions. "I-I don't know what you mean."

Charles laughed uproariously. "Drop the act, traitor. I know everything. I know that kneeling next to me like a dog is the one and only King Spencer. I know that King Derek is not here to form an alliance but rather rescue his husband. And I know that you have decided to help him."

"I-I-I c-can a-assure you, father –"

"Enough!" the king barked. "Enough of your lies, son. The lord hath taught us that lying is a sin and you my dear boy have turned out to be an even bigger sinner than the whore on the end of this chain." The malicious man paused to flash his son a bright smile.

The prince looked over at the young man he had grown to love over the past few months and shot him an apologetic look. Spencer longed to reassure Tobias that this wasn't his fault but there was no way for him to impart his thoughts.

After witnessing his son's remorseful look, the king laughed louder. "Once again you succeeded in the one thing you are good at…failure. Did you tell King Derek that before you volunteered to help? Eh? Well I suppose you didn't. Doesn't matter now. Not when he is about to die before our very eyes in a matter of moments."

Tobias furrowed his brow and looked back to the tiltyard behind him. He saw his uncle's horse come stomping out from behind the gate, followed closely by King Derek's. "What are you going to do?" he asked as quiet as a whisper.

"What am I going to do? Sit back and watch. It's what your uncle is about to do," Charles gloated before he added more details. "He's about to pierce King Derek through the heart with his sharpened lance. No blunted tip for my dear brother."

"Father, no!" Tobias beseeched desperately.

"Save it, boy. It is already done. Derek's fate was sealed the moment he mounted that horse. Now you are dismissed back to your room. You will go straight there and wait until I summon you for your punishment. I don't want to hear any nonsense about you gallivanting around the grounds trying to warn your new friends, for Derek's entourage is being arrest as we speak and unless you want to join them you will do as your told," Charles commanded, his words getting more and more heated as he gave his instructions.

A small piece of his father's spittle landed on Tobias's cheek, breaking him out of his shocked haze. "Y-yes, father," he said obsequiously, standing up from his kowtowed position.

The young man started to make his way out of the king's box when his father's voice stopped him once more.

"Now that your husband's foolish plans have been sufficiently thwarted, King Spencer, shall we watch his last breath?"

The prince turned back and watched as his father wiped away the tears that were coursing down Spencer's face with his knobby fingers. Charles then brought his saturated appendages up to his mouth and licked them clean. "Hmm," he hummed in delight, "Tears of anguish have to be one of the sweetest things I've ever tasted. It's too bad I can't bottle them up for later…but then again, I'm sure your eyes will be running like a river for the next few days. I'll just have to enjoy it while I can."

In that moment, something inside of Tobias broke. He knew now what he had to do. He silently pushed the red curtain aside and stormed down the steps, intent on making sure the two lovers got their happy ending.

* * *

Try as he might, Spencer could not stop the salt water that was flowing out of the corners of his eyes. The worst moment of his life was upon him and Charles was right, there was nothing he could do about it.

Listlessly, he allowed Charles to pull him toward the front of the box. The king grabbed the back of his neck and forced him to look down at the arena floor. Spencer's faded brown eyes immediately zoned in on his husband's steel clad body riding astride his legendary horse.

Derek's armor was shining brightly in the morning sun; its silver gleam causing a few people in the stands to block their eyes from flash of light it emitted when it caught the rays just right. His frog-mouth helmet was already perched over the top of his head with the hinged ventilation piece sealed shut. Clasped in the crook of his right arm was a four meter long lance with a blunted tip in the shape of lions paw.

Spencer watched as his husband struggled to guide Thunderhead over to his end of the tilt barrier. The horse seemed to be trying to go back to the stable and Derek had to keep nudging him along by kicking him in the ribs. The slave couldn't help but notice at how the noble steed's behavior was severely out of character for the horse, for he had never bucked against Derek's directions before.

"Get a good look," Charles said ominously as the opponents settled into their positions.

The captive king didn't even blink in response; his eyes were completely glued to the love of his life.

With a triumphant grin on his face, the Georgian king raised his hand up high and dropped the same handkerchief as before, signaling the trumpeter to start the match.

Seconds later the blaring sound of the brass instrument tore through the air and the riders were spurring their horses down the path.

Spencer watched wide-eyed as Thunderhead's hooves tore up the ground, flinging dirt clods behind him as he galloped at full speed. He saw how Derek, in perfect harmony with his horse, leaned forth slightly in his saddle before bringing up the tip of his lance to what he deduced was the appropriate level with Raphael's chest.

Unfortunately, on the opposite side of the tilt, Raphael was moving just as smoothly. He already had his lance in place and his body braced for impact.

The moment the two knights met in the middle Spencer's whole world dropped from beneath his knees. He watched in surreal slow-motion as Raphael's lance masterfully hit its mark, and drove straight through Derek's heart and out the other side, exposing the bloodied pointed tip. His beloved instantaneously fell from his saddle, taking the grotesque weapon with him down to the ground.

If Spencer could have let out a wail he would have, for he knew beyond a doubt that no one could survive such a blow.

The devastated slave closed his eyes and tried to block out the sight of his husband lying in a growing pool of his life's blood.

He couldn't believe it.

It happened.

Derek had died.

Above the shattered soul of Quantico's king, Charles stood laughing as he relished his victory.

Ever the one to rub his achievements in the face of his advisories, the king leaned down and grabbed his slave; throwing the boy's wilted body over his shoulder.

He jubilantly marched down to the battle scene and dumped Spencer down into the red tacky puddle that had developed on the ground. He look over to the knight and said, "The twerp never stood a chance against your impeccable aim, brother."

Raphael, who was holding his helm in his hand, grinned at Charles's praise. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"You've earned the right to strip him of his armor," Charles decreed.

"His helmet looks to be of good quality. I think I'll start there," he said, bending down to kneel above Derek's clad head. Raphael quickly unfastened the vent and pulled the metal helmet away from the foreign king's head, revealing –

"LORD ROSSI!" Charles shouted with a power that shook the stands.

Spencer, whose eyes had been closed the entire time, snapped his brown orbs open and fixed his gaze on the gasping mouth of the man that was like a father to him. "Nfff," he muffled out, the sound not even close to imparting his shock and grief

The enslaved young king ignored the ranting tyrant above him and shimmied over to his dying mentor. When he got to the man's side, Spencer hovered his head over the top of Rossi's and allowed a new wave of tears to cascade down his cheeks.

The swiftly failing man closed his wheezing mouth and tried to reach his heavy hand up from off the ground. Alas, the mail clad hand was too weighty to lift and plopped listlessly back to into the dirt. "D-Don't c-cry, s-son," he rasped out, clearly in pain.

Unable to answer, Spencer simply bent over and nuzzled his head into the crook of Lord Rossi's neck. Once there he started to shake uncontrollably as he struggled to keep his wails of sorrow locked behind his pierced lips.

"Shhhhh. I-Its alright, s-s-son. Don't b-be s-sad. I-I get to g-go s-s-see your m-mom," the wizened old man whispered reassuringly right before spark of life left his eyes.


	25. Straight to the Heart

**Hi Friends!**

**No excuses - just sorry for the wait.**

**This chapter is short...I know...another sorry for that...but I felt the need to put something out there before the month of February completely passed me by.**

**Thanks for all your continued support, follows, and reviews!**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Derek's heart was pounding as he and his knights smoothly dodged around the guards that were positioned all throughout the tiltyard on their way to the rendezvous point. He knew the Charles's men weren't on alert for them yet but they would be soon. The young king and his men needed to stay low in order to keep them off their trail when the alarm was sounded.

As they ducked around the corner of the stables Derek started telling himself over and over in his brain that this whole thing was almost over; in a matter of minutes he was going to be wrapping his arms around Spencer and spiriting him away from this vile place.

After a few more minutes of sneaking around the castle grounds the team finally halted next to a hole in the castle wall that had been made by years of ill-care and decay. They were the first to arrive.

Derek took off his helmet and swore, "Damnit. They were supposed to be here already!"

Aaron and Sam followed suit and removed their headgear; the former started to look around the immediate area while the latter slipped through the narrow hole and called back, "They're not out here."

The king turned toward his most trusted friend, "You don't think Tobias double-crossed us, do you?"

Sir Hotchner's eyes darkened at the suggestion, "The prince is in love with King Spencer. It is possible he betrayed us in order to keep him around."

Devastation painted Derek's eyes, "I was so sure he was really going to help us –"

"I'm trying to but my father is making it quite difficult," Tobias stated, cutting off the visiting king as he pushed through a nearby break in the hedges. The flustered prince walked up to Derek and gave him a frustrated look, as if to say he was disappointed that the visiting king would even consider the notion that he would deceive him.

Derek immediately turned toward the sound of the prince's sallow voice. "Tobias?" Derek asked, after searching the bushes the young man just came through for any sign of his beloved. "Where is Spencer? A-and Penelope?

The young man brushed a few stray branches off of his clothes and looked up grimly, "Last night – you were right – your instincts were right. The joust is…uh…was all a set-up. My father knows everything - and I mean everything. H-He knows who Reed really is and he knows that you're only here to rescue him. He told me so after he had Penelope arrested and dragged down to the dungeon. He-uh-he planned on having my uncle kill you today during the joust and he was going to make Reed watch."

"Shit," Derek cursed as his face paled with the news that his plans had been thwarted. He brought his hands up to his shaved head and rubbed them back and forth in distress.

What was he supposed to do now?

He dropped to his knees as the weight of the world seemed to crash down on his shoulders. He braced his hands against his thighs and started to heave large quantities of air in and out of his lungs. Derek could feel his chest constricting as the oxygen did nothing to alleviate the panic he could feel setting in at the thought that he had failed.

He could feel his resolve start to break when an armored hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed his joint tightly. "All is not lost yet, Sire," Aaron said softly, his words imbued with hope.

"How can you say that?" Derek muttered despondently. "I just sent Lord Rossi to his death bed, Penelope has been taken prisoner and Spe-," Derek stopped and furrowed his brow. He looked back up at Tobias and said, "Wait – where is Spencer?"

Tobias swallowed, "I-I already told you. My f-father wanted him to watch you die. So, he's still with him at the joust."

"Damn – "

The blare of a trumpet's sound interrupted Derek's next words, causing the young king's eyes to go as they connected with Tobias's. "Lord Rossi?" he asked, hoping against hope that his mentor was still alive.

"He's probably already dead," Tobias said solemnly. "That was my father's call to battle."

Luckily, just as Derek's mind started whirring with the implications of Tobias's statement, Sir Hotchner stepped in, "My lord, we can't stay here. You need to go! Get off Georgian soil and back to our camp where the rest of our men can protect you. Sir Kassmeyer and I will try to rescue King Spencer and Penelope."

Derek's eyes flared at the man's suggestions, "What? No! There is no way I'm abandoning Spencer now! I will see this through to the end."

"I can't allow that, Your Highness. Our whole plan has unraveled and Quantico can't afford to lose both of you. You must see reason! Let us do our job while you preserve our country," Aaron said sternly.

"You damn well know that I'm not going anywhere," he argued with a fire as hot as the surface of the sun shining in his eyes.

The knight wisely knew when to quit and silently nodded his acquiescence.

"Good," Derek said. "Now, listen closely because if we get this wrong then we're all dead."

* * *

Spencer felt his mentor's heart cease its beat after his haunting last words.

Son?

Lord Rossi really had loved him like a son.

The agony of losing another father figure in his life cut him to the core but now was not the time to mourn.

"Oh stop your sniveling!" snarled Charles as he yanked harshly on the chain that attached to Spencer's collar. "His blood will not be the last shed today."

Raphael, who was holding Rossi's helmet in the crook of his arm, turned toward his brother. "What do you want to do now, Your Grace?"

"Now we finish what we started over a year ago," the tyrannical king sneered as he locked eyes with his captive, "We kill Derek and paint the land with his blood."

The formidable knight grinned as he dropped the helmet to the ground and unsheathed his sword. He turned to one of his lackeys and ordered, "Sound the alarm and spread the word, King Derek and his men are to be arrested upon sight. Scour the grounds and double the guard at every gate."

Charles waited until his brother had finished issuing instructions before he threw the chain in his hands at the knight.

The armor clad man barely managed to catch the leash in his free gauntleted hand. "What –"

"Pick the kid up and follow me," Charles commanded.

"But I've got to lead the search party," Raphael said, refuting the order.

The king snorted, "Your men can handle it. Besides, if I'm right, we're probably going to find Derek before the dogs can even catch his scent."

"Really?" the man asked, skeptically. "Where?"

"Think, you dolt! Where else would he go but to the one person that's been helping him all along; he'll be with my son."

* * *

Spencer grunted as he was tossed over Raphael's shoulder like a sack of flour. He wiggled in discomfort but the knight in question cared nothing for his state of being.

"What do you want me to do the kid when we get there?" Raphael asked as his feet quickly ate up the gravel road in between the tiltyard and the castle.

"As long as he can see me as I lop off his husband's head, I don't give a shit."

The captive king kicked out his legs at Charles's callous comment, trying in vain to dislodge himself from Raphael's grip.

The knight just laughed at the slave's gesture. "A newborn foal kicks harder than you, boy," the man taunted as he tightened his hold around the young man's knees.

Undeterred, Spencer continued to fight against the man's hold by squirming back and forth and jabbing his toes into Raphael's plate covered thighs. He had just gotten in a really good blow when he felt the flat of the knight's blade smack him on his backside. "Knock it off!"

"Trouble's, brother?" Charles asked wryly from his position in front of the two.

"Nothing I can't handle," Raphael retorted swiftly before he whispered, "Watch it, whore, or else I'll shove the pointy end of my sword up your lover's hole before my brother chops off his head."

Spencer immediately ceased his actions.

"That's what I thought," the man muttered beneath him smugly, striking the boy one more time just for fun. After that the rest of the trip back to the castle was made in relative silence among the three men.

In contrast, the grounds around them were buzzing with movement. Some soldiers ran all over the place inspecting every nook and cranny while others were rounding up all the courtiers and townspeople to double-check their identities.

It was just as Charles's boot clad foot touched the first stone step leading up to the main entrance that shouts of "Your Highness" stopped him in his tracks. The king turned heel and saw a young knight running up to him.

"What is it?" he demanded brusquely.

"Y-your Grace, I-I have news!" the youth said breathlessly.

Impatient as always, Charles just spat, "Out with it!"

"King Derek's m-men were spotted going around the back of the castle."

The king's eyes narrowed, "How many men?"

"Just those two knights that are always with him."

"I bet they're one their way down to the dungeons to free their friend," Raphael interjected.

Charles glanced at his brother and nodded, "Without their king…which means…"

"They're splitting up which makes them more vulnerable to attack," Raphael supplied.

"Of course! Fool!" Charles chided. "But more importantly, it means that Derek is alone now."

A slow smile parted Raphael's lips when he realized what his brother way saying, "He's a sitting duck."

"Exactly," Charles said with a grin that matched the knight. "Now give me the boy. I have an idea."

* * *

Tobias was gazing out of his bedroom window trying to slow his breathing back to normal after his mad dash back to the castle. Down below he watched as his father's men scurried about the grounds on a mission to kill.

"This is it," he whispered to himself. It was all coming to a head today. Before the sun even reached its zenith in the sky the fate of the man who held his heart and all of his new friends would be decided.

The prince didn't even flinch when he heard the doors to his receiving chambers slam open, heralding his father's arrival. He just kept his eyes trained on the tree lined forest resting beyond the stone wall and prepared himself for the confrontation to come.

"Tobias," Charles hollered as he pushed open the set of doors that led into his son's room.

The gangly young man turned away from the window slowly and bowed at the waist. "Your Majesty," he said somberly, trying to put on a brave face in front of the man that intimidated like no other. After he had acknowledged his father's presence, he stood up from his bent position he allowed his eyes to take in his father's formidable form.

What he saw took him by surprise. The normally cool and composed kings stood in front of him red-faced and disheveled with his slave slung over his left shoulder.

"How can I be of service, father?" the prince asked stoically, struggling to keep his cool-headed mask in place while his father's piercing eyes roved around the room.

"Where is he?" Charles barked out after he failed to locate the man he was looking for.

"Where is who?" Tobias tried to ask innocently, his reserve breaking slightly due to his father's menacing tone.

The king, seeing right through his son's act, dumped his burden on the floor without a second glance and stalked over to his son. He reached out his hand and grasped his offspring around his narrow neck, "You know exactly who I'm talking about!"

Tobias sputtered out a few nonsensical syllables but couldn't manage to form them into words due to the constriction on his throat.

"Where are you hiding King Derek?" Charles demanded again, backing his son into the wall before he loosened his grip.

"I-I have no idea. I came here straightaway. S-shouldn't he be down at the joust?"

"Don't toy with me, boy," the monarch snarled, his eyes narrowing in fury. "You may be my son, but I'm not opposed to trying out some of my more painful methods of torture in order to loosen your tongue."

"That won't be necessary, Charles. I'm right here," Derek called out from behind his rival. His voice pealed like a bell throughout the room, announcing his presence to all of its occupants.

Charles turned and smirked with triumph sparkling in his eyes, "Just like we knew you would be."

"We?" Derek asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

Charles just jerked his head in response, signaling for Derek to turn around. The valiant king spun on his heel and was greeted with Raphael's signature black blade.

"I'm here too," the knight said right before he lunged forward, thrusting the tip of his black sword straight toward Derek's heart.

* * *

**It will all come to an end in the next chapter. I cannot promise a date but know that I am working on it. The outline is done and not it just needs to be executed. I promise it will be worth the wait.**


	26. Clash of the Kings

**Hi friends!**

**Wow, this one was rough. I think I did it justice though...at least I hope I did. **

**Thanks for all your follows, reviews and patience. There will be only one final chapter after this. It's going to wrap everything up and address anything I've left open.**

**Please forgive any mistakes!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Spencer watched as the floor changed from gray stone to a patterned Persian rug as his captor walked through the doorway leading to Tobias's room. He barely had time to register the brief exchange between the father and son before he was hurtling toward the unforgiving floor.

His left shoulder took the brunt of the fall, absorbing the lithe boy's weight as it crashed into the ground. The force of his fall sent his body careening backwards, causing him to roll over onto his back. A muffled grunt escaped the small spaces between his pierced lips while a grimace encompassed his face.

The bound boy struggled to get his body erect and was about to give up when a set of strong hands wrapped around his biceps. He let out a whimper of fear, thinking that the strange grip meant him harm, but was surprised to hear the gravelly voice of his beloved whispering, "Shh, I've got you."

Derek!

His beloved had been crouched behind the open door, hidden from the king's view.

"I'm going to release your hands but don't do anything. I've got it all taken care of. I'm getting you out of here, now!" Derek whispered in his ear as he used his leverage to haul Spencer's lanky body upright.

The calming effect that Derek's words were supposed to convey bounced right off of Spencer. All the youth could feel was panic surging through his veins. He needed to tell his husband that he was walking into a trap – that Charles knew he was going to be here and Raphael was waiting in the wings, ready to kill him.

So, the second bindings around his wrists fell free Spencer brought his hands up to his mouth, resisting the urge to turn around and envelop his husband in a much needed hug. His trembling fingers made contact with the first stud sealing his lips but dropped away when he felt Derek's body shift behind him.

The captive king could hear Charles's voice in the background, growling at Tobias, "Don't toy with me, boy. You may be my son, but I'm not opposed to trying out some of my more painful methods of torture in order to loosen your tongue."

Spencer's newly liberated hands reached out in a desperate effort to grab Derek's tunic as his lover vacated the space behind him but his fingers just brushed off of the harsh metal plating of the suit of armor. He let out a stifled groan as he helplessly watched the love of his life play right into Charles's hands.

"That won't be necessary, Charles. I'm right here," he heard Derek call out gallantly.

The captive king sat frozen in place as he watched the Georgian King turn around and sneer at his husband before he said, "Just like we knew you would be."

"We?" Derek probed, clearly surprised by the statement.

Spencer felt his heart jump into his throat when Raphael's deep baritone boomed in response, "I'm here too."

* * *

Derek was momentarily taken aback by Raphael's sudden appearance. He had no time to curse his stupidity for naively believing that Charles's wouldn't come prepared for a fight. His fingers had barely grazed the hilt of his sword when Raphael's onyx blade shot out toward his heart. Thankfully his years of training and experience automatically kicked in, allowing him to subvert the lethal blow by a quick sidestep to his right.

Raphael let out a mocking chuckle, "You're going to have to be quicker than that if you want to live, Derek."

With his sword now freed from its sheath, Derek brought it up in a defensive position and retorted, "And you need to look in a mirror – I'm younger, faster, and more agile. I'm your superior in every way."

"That's where you are wrong, child," The Georgian knight countered as he lunged forward angrily.

Derek jumped backward and brought his sword down, deflecting his enemy's swing. Fluidly, he swung his blade around in an arc and aimed it straight at Raphael's thick neck.

The knight ducked out of the way and brought his blade up to block. "Only your arrogance surpasses my own, other than that I outperform you in every way!" Raphael crowed as his steel crashed against his opponent's.

The two men fell silent after the knight's boast echoed throughout the room. They continued to trade blows, though each swing of the sword was blocked expertly by the other. The battle seemed almost like a practice session between two friends for every move that one would make the other was able to anticipate it and counter it effortlessly.

There seemed to be no end in sight for the battle between the two seasoned men, for neither of them were showing any signs of fatigue and they were too evenly matched to pull a surprise move on one another. If it hadn't been for Charles's interference than the fight may have lasted for hours.

Unfortunately, the Georgian king was growing tired of watching the stalemate ensue between his brother and rival. So he grabbed a pillow off of the chair that was positioned next to him and threw it down on the ground – directly in line with Derek's backward shuffling feet.

Raphael, who had seen his brother's move out of the corner of his eye, started to steer Derek toward the obstruction with a few calculated thrusts.

The younger man heard a stifled cry come from his husband's direction but ignored it as he parried each stab of the black blade. Suddenly his opponent picked up his speed and increased his attack. Their swords flew through the air like streaks of lightning, the blades obscured by their tempo.

As Derek moved to block one particularly aggressive blow he felt the heel of his right foot make contact with an unexpected material. The shock of stepping on the soft cushion threw off the youth's concentration, which drove his foot out from underneath him. He felt his body start its decent to the ground at the same time as a fiery wave of pain cut across his left hip, right in the gap between his cuirass and cuisse.

"Arg!" Derek cried out, surprised by the stinging sensation radiating from his new wound. He almost dropped his sword in an effort to put pressure on the cut, but knew that his death would be sealed if he relinquished his only means of protection.

Towering above him in triumph, Raphael pointed the tip of his sword at Derek's bare neck. "See, I told you I was your better."

"Your claim is void if you have to cheat to make it true," Derek retorted, grimacing in pain.

"I would have won eventually," Raphael stated brashly as he brought up the sharp point and jabbed it into the bared flesh of Derek's right elbow, hoping to render his foe's sword arm useless.

"You still haven't won yet," Derek grunted as blood started to rush down his arm and gather in the tips of his gauntlet.

The monarch's raucous laugh sounded throughout the room as Charles stepped away from his son and walked over to Spencer, "You have way too much confidence for someone in your current position, Derek."

"And you have too much for someone in yours," Derek snapped, his eyes following the man's journey over to his beloved. "I will be leaving here today. Alive. And with my husband. The same can't be said for you and your brother."

"Pray tell, how do you envision that happening when you are down there on your arse awaiting the killing blow from the same sword that ended your mother?" Charles taunted gleefully. He reached down and grabbed his slave by the neck and hauled him up to his feet. He forced his toy to look at him and whispered menacingly, "Watch now as I have my brother kill your lover. Then I'll make you saw off his head and perch it on the spike that will decorate our windowsill until it decays beyond recognition."

Spencer, tired of the abuse and desperate to save his husband, grabbed Charles's arm with his liberated hands and tried to pry his fingers from around his neck. The king laughed at the boy's fruitless struggle and flung him to the ground. "You're pathetic," he spat. He then whirled around and said to Derek, "I hope this pitiful excuse of a man was really worth your life." Without waiting for the young man to respond, Charles looked up at his brother and ordered, "Finish him."

"With pleasure," Raphael said, drawing back his sword arm and supporting it with his left hand.

Derek, who had been momentarily focused on Spencer, drew his eyes back toward his opponent and saw him in position to deliver a lethal strike. His heart jumped at the sight of the black sword at ready which sent a jolt of urgency tingling down his sword arm all the way to his fingertips. His deep-seated training kicked in immediately, telling him to take advantage of his adversary's weakness while he had a chance.

Without a second thought, Derek jerked his sword up at an angle and sent it straight up and into Raphael's exposed right armpit. The blade delved its way through the man's body until it hit the study bones hidden beneath the delicate flesh. Undeterred, Derek continued pushing the steel until it emerged from the space behind the clavicle and crashed right into the soft spot underneath Raphael's jaw.

The young king pulled his weapon back and watched mesmerized as blood started to pour out of Raphael's open wounds. Above him, the dark knight tried to speak, his eyes conveying his shock at his enemy's sudden attack. Only a hoarse croak made its way out of Raphael's mouth before he collapsed in a heap of metal on the carpeted floor.

* * *

Spencer couldn't help but watch in horror as Raphael prepared to kill his husband. He started to push himself up off the ground, ready to run over there and throw his body in front of the sword, but his heroics weren't needed. Derek had made his move.

With pride the youth watched as his husband's blade made short work of his opponent above him. The once shiny silver sword was now covered in Raphael's lifeblood; a poetic harbinger of the knight's death.

Immediately after Raphael crumpled to the ground in defeat, the boy turned his honey-brown eyes toward his husband desperately hoping that he was alright. To his dismay, his beloved just sat there on the ground with a dazed expression on his face. Slowly he dropped his sword and brought his free hand up to apply pressure on his elbow wound. He slowly flexed his fingers as if checking to see if they still worked. Suddenly his lips twisted in discomfort, drawing his gaze away from his hand to his injured side. The once gleaming silver metal now was covered in small streams of red tacky fluid which were pooling up at the bottom of the armor before dripping down onto the carpeted floor. Spencer watched as Derek blinked his hazy eyes once at the sight of the wound before closing them and passing out cold onto the unforgiving floor.

A loud growl above him broke Spencer's stupor. The expression on Charles's face clearly conveyed the man's boiling rage at his brother's death and defeat.

"Enough of this game! It's time for him to die! Now!" the king shouted with a deafening roar before he unsheathed his sword and charged forward toward his vulnerable rival.

Worry spiked through Spencer at the realization that Derek was in no shape to defend himself against Charles. The adrenaline surge spurned the young man forward in order to protect his mate. Unfortunately, while his hands had been freed earlier, his legs were still hobbled by the chain strung in between them. In the middle of his panic, Spencer had forgotten that one important little detail and was quickly reminded of it when his body fell flat on the floor not even two feet from where he started.

He looked up from his prone position on the ground and saw that Charles was about to finish what his brother had started. Spencer tried to open his mouth to shout out at the menacing monarch but all he succeeded in doing was ripping the flesh that surrounded the studs. His frightened fingers found their way back to his tender lips and started to vigorously unscrew the same ring as before when he saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Father, no! Stop!" called Tobias, finally moving away from the window he had been standing idly by all along.

Charles's halted his movements and turned to look at his son. "What?" he asked incredulously.

"Please, father. D-don't kill him," Tobias begged. His arm outstretched as if the palm of his hand could stop the future trajectory of his father's sword.

"You can't be serious, boy. This is war. And in war you kill your enemies – not spare them!" Charles spat out.

"You're wrong, father. This isn't war…it's just you throwing a fit because things aren't going your way," Tobias stated without a single quaver in his voice. "I'm begging you, please reconsider what you are about to do. Let him go – let them both go. No more blood needs to be shed today. Let's just get back to our lives and let them go home and rebuild theirs."

Charles squinted his eyes and curled up his lip at his son's newfound insolence. "And why would I do that?"

"Because…because you'd be killing the husband of the best man I've ever known. And I can't let you do that," Tobias said, his eyes wandering over to Spencer in an effort to communicate how much he meant the words he was about to say.

"Surely you jest!" Charles barked. "That brat over there is nothing but a worthless whore – my worthless whore – besides his talents in bed there is nothing good about him."

Tobias's visage darkened at the crass insult, "You couldn't be more wrong, father. I assure you. Reed is the only human being besides mom to ever show me the meaning of the word kindness. We had only known each other for a few hours when I could tell that he was the epitome of a just and true man. After all that you've put him through he has never once stopped being my friend; he never held what you did to him against me. So I'll be damned if I let you ruin his life any further! I mean, really, father. Haven't you done enough? You've already degraded him, humiliated him, and abused him. You will not take away his only reason for living too!"

"Tobias! No!" Spencer called out after finally freeing his lips of the garish piercings. He knew what his friend was trying to do and he knew it wouldn't work. Charles was too intent on revenge to be swayed by his son's words. Tobias's appeal to reason would only bring his father's wrath down on him as well.

Charles snarled, "I always knew you were weak! Because only a weak man would allow the illusion of friendship to cloud his judgement as such. It's almost like you're a fucking puppy – attaching yourself too anyone who shows you some attention. You are a disgrace, son. You always have been." Having said his final words on the subject, the king turned back to his intended target.

In a last ditch effort, Tobias called out, "If I am weak it's only because you neglected to teach me how to be strong."

The Georgian king scoffed, "I am the essence of strength, son. It was you who neglected to learn from my examples."

"What examples?" the prince asked. "The only thing I ever see you do is belittle and exploit the people around you. Does that make you strong? And tell me, why does a strong man feel the need to enslave random strangers and sexually abuse them? Because the way I see it, only a weak man who doubts his own sexual prowess would resort to something so vile as what you've done to Reed – no, not Reed. It's Spencer; King Spencer, actually."

Seething, Charles grit his teeth together and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, "You're words have only further cemented this man's death. That fucking slave has turned you against me, son. You know not what you say. After I finish dispatching this man from the world I will turn this sword on his lover. I don't want him dripping his poison into your ear any longer."

After that everything seemed to happen at once.

Charles stabbed his sword forward, clearly intent on shoving it straight through Derek's armor and into his heart.

Spencer, who had drawn himself up off of the floor, leaped from his position and landed on the king's back. The force of his fall took Charles by surprise and sent the two of them straight to the floor in a heap of limbs. Alas, the young man was a second too late to save his lover, but Tobias wasn't.

The prince knew his father had made up his mind and was going to follow through on his threat. So he did the only thing that he could think to do; he threw himself in front of the blade and took the steel jab that was meant for Derek.

Admirably, Tobias only let out a small groan of pain as the narrow point entered his abdomen. He took one step backward, the sword still embedded in his stomach, and fell to the ground. He let out a few garbled coughs that left a metallic aftertaste in his mouth.

"Dad?" he whimpered as he brought his hand up to his mouth and wiped away a trickle of blood that had found its out from between his lips.

Charles rolled Spencer off of his back and scrambled over to his son. He didn't say a word just cupped his child's cheek in his hand. His son looked up at him slowly and whispered, "I forgive you, dad." Tobias then closed his eyes and slumped backward against Derek's body behind him.

"NO!" the furious king screeched as a wave of conflicting emotions engulfed his brain. He reached forward and grabbed his sword's hilt, pulling the steel free from his son's body. He whirled around, swinging the blade in an arc behind him to build up momentum, and sent it speeding down in Spencer's direction.

The maddened man was taken by surprise when the clang of steel on steel echoed throughout the room.

The red that had been flashing before his eyes cleared enough to show him Raphael's black blade was the one that stopped his own – and his scrawny slave was the one wielding it.

"So you think you can fight, eh?" Charles mocked, bringing his sword down again, testing the young man's abilities.

Spencer, who was at a disadvantage due to his position on the floor, narrowly avoided a sliced open skull. Luckily, he had enough strength to bring up the heavy broadsword and avoided the downswing of Charles's blade by a hair's breadth. "I can get by," he uttered, using the few precious seconds he had between swings to scramble to his feet.

"Getting by isn't going to be good enough against me, whore," the king taunted as he swung again.

The novice tried to emulate the moves he'd seen his husband perform on the practice field but he wasn't fast enough. Charles easily cut through his defenses and sliced his right thigh.

"Arg!" Spencer cried out, the searing pain dulling his ability to swing the weighty blade. Fortunately, Charles's had backed him right up against Tobias's bed and he was able to fling himself down flat on the mattress, allowing the blade to slice through the air where his neck had once been.

"You're screwed now, boy. You have nowhere else to go and you can't wield that sword any better than a two-year-old child," Charles crowed, towering above the one man that had caused all his troubles. "Are you ready? Are you ready to die, here and now, all alone except for me to witness your demise? The only people that gave two shits about you are all dead. It's time for you to join them!"

Spencer propped himself up on his elbows, the hilt of the onyx blade still clutched in his fingers. He stared Charles down with a confident look that the king hadn't expected to see on his soon to be conquered foe, "Again you are mistaken, Charles. I'm not alone."

"Ha! And who is here is with you? Ghosts?" Charles jeered.

"No, Charles. I am," came Derek's deep baritone from directly behind him.

The king spun around, his sword at ready, despite his shock. He had too many years of experience to let his guard down when a surprise move was executed on him. A smile broke out on his face when he saw that Derek was still weak in the knees from his injuries. He started swinging his sword as he said, "You're just as stupid as your husband. What you wanted to make sure that you died fir-"

Charles never got the chance to finish his last word because suddenly the sharpened black tip of his brother's precious sword emerged through the hollow in his neck, forever silencing his voice and ending his abominable reign.

Spencer let go of the hefty hilt, allowing it to fall with the Charles's lifeless form. His body was heaving in air as the adrenaline rush that had kept him going since he'd been dropped on the ground upon entry into Tobias's room finally wore off. "Derek, you're okay?" he managed to squeeze out, no thanks to his tightened chest muscles.

"I'm alright. It's not as bad as it looks," he answered with a grin that was meant to hide the pain in his voice from his lover. "Are you?"

"I….I…I don't –" the young man cut himself off as a sob escaped his lips. "Oh my God…i-is it over?"

Derek saw that his lover was about to spiral into a panic attack and shuffled his way over and sat on the bed next to him. He quickly wrapped his arms around Spencer's lithe body and pulled him in close for the tightest embrace they have ever shared. "It's over, sweetie and it's all because of you. You did it. You were so brave! I've never been so proud of you in my life. We're going to get to walk out of here together all thanks to you and your quick thinking."

Between his heaving breaths Spencer managed to spit out, "Y-you're alive! You're really here and alive. I-I didn't think that you'd make it – we'd make it."

"But we did," Derek told him. He pulled back from the hug and shucked his gauntlets off and onto the floor. He then brought up his clean hand and used it to cup Spencer's cheek. He steered his lover's lips toward his own and crashed them together.

Derek could feel his heart swelling as the emotions that he'd kept locked up inside this whole time came pouring out in that simple little kiss. The frustration, the longing and the yearning burst forth from his body and intensified the liplock until both men had to pull back in order to catch their breath. "I've waited so long to do that to you again."

Spencer gave him a soft smile that hardened when he saw Derek wince, "Are you really okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. The bleeding is slower now. He didn't cut me as deep as he thought," Derek explained.

Spencer pondered his husband's words for a few seconds, "So did you really pass out?"

"Oh yeah, that was real. I think it was a mixture of exhaustion, blood loss and shock hitting me all at once," Derek said with a frown, his eyes fixated on Spencer's lips. "Sweetie, why are your lips swollen and bleeding?"

The formerly enslaved king brought his fingers up to his mouth and wiped away the speckles of blood that had developed from his earlier removal of the piercings. "It's…uh…it's fine. Don't worry about it. How did you end up waking up just in time?" he asked, changing the subject.

Derek furrowed his brow but didn't push his husband into answering, instead he focused on the question at hand. "I think it must have been Tobias falling on me that jolted me awake."

With a gasp, Spencer lurched to his feet, "Tobias!" The freed king tried to take a step forward but forgot about his chained feet and went crashing to the ground, again. "Derek! Get these things off of me," he cried desperately as his fingers fumbled with the golden shackles around his ankles.

Derek slid off the bed and landed next to Charles's cooling body. Earlier, when he was freeing Spencer's hands, he had already had a key courtesy of Tobias. But that key had only fit the set that bound his husband's wrists. Tobias hadn't mentioned that he was going to need another one to free his beloved's feet. So, he rifled through the dead man's pockets until he found what he needed. He then stretched out his hands and unlocked the cuffs that were binding Spencer's ankles.

Once his feet were unfettered, Spencer got up off the floor and rushed over to Tobias. "Please be okay," he murmured. "Please be okay."

The young man dropped down to his knees next to the prince's body and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, shaking it gently. "Tobias? Tobias, please wake up."

Spencer felt as though his breath had somehow become locked up in his chest, for it felt like he couldn't take a breath until he saw Tobias's eyes crack open. "Oh thank God!" he exclaimed. "Derek, please, go get help!"

The young king started walking over to his lover with a frown on his face. He looked down on the prince and saw the large red spot on his abdomen was wet with blood and getting bigger with Tobias's every strangled breath. "Spencer, honey, I don't think he has that long," Derek said solemnly, knowing that his friend's end was nigh.

Anger razed Spencer's beautiful visage as he turned around and tersely stated, "He's going to be fine! Now go get him some –"

Spencer's emotional tirade was cut short by the gentle touch of a hand wrapping around his wrist. "Spencer, he's right," Tobias whispered with great effort. "I don't have much longer."

"No. That's not true. Don't give up on yourself. You're going to be fine. I promise," the distraught young man vowed.

Tobias forced a small smile onto his lips. "D-don't make promises you can't keep."

"Only if you don't give up on yourself," Spencer said with tears rolling like rivers down his face.

The prince coughed a few more times and swallowed down a glob of blood. "I'm just g-glad t-that y-you're f-f-finally f-free," he stuttered; talking was becoming a more difficult for him now.

"All thanks to you," Spencer admitted with his words as watery as his eyes.

Tobias reached his hand up and brushed a finger along Spencer's jawline. "I-I'm s-s-o glad I got t-t-o know y-you," he admitted before letting his hand fall to the ground with a thud. "Y-you w-w-were m-my only f-friend."

"Am. Tobias. I am your friend," the boy said, trying in vain to stay optimistic.

The prince's weak smile contorted into jagged frown as he tried to hold back a cry of pain. Another small dribble of blood peaked its head out of the corner of his mouth, signaling that his time had come.

Sensing that his friend was in agony and knowing that it was all his fault, Spencer grabbed Tobias's hands between his own and whispered the only thing he could think of to try to make it better, "I'm so sorry."

Tobias's eyes went wide as another streak of pain tore through his body. "Gnnn, i-it's not y-your f-f-fault. N-now, g-go h-home, R-ah-n-no, Spencer. Y-your t-t-telescope is w-waiting," he said softly, each word lingering in the air as if to pay tribute to his final breath.

Spencer couldn't help but smile through all of his tears at the prince's last words. The former slave squeezed his hands tightly around Tobias's, silently promising the man who had been his rock over the past year that he was not going to die alone. "Thank you, friend. Thank you for everything. I'll never forget what you've done for me," he professed as a raspy sound scratched its way out of the boy's throat. That noise heralded another round of ragged breaths and then the prince went still.

A sound akin to a mournful moan emitted throughout the room when Spencer realized that his friend's light had gone out. He drew the prince's hands up to his mouth and planted a few small kisses on them while muttering over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Derek, completely heartbroken for his beloved and the loss that he had just endured, knelt down behind his husband and wrapped him in his arms.

The two sat there like that until the genius king's sobs died down into little whimpers of sorrow. When Spencer finally caught his breath and wiped the remnants of his tears on his bare arm, he gently let go of Tobias's hands and placed them in a cross over his still chest. The former captive then broke his husband's grip around his waist and turned to face him.

"Can you take me home now?" he inquired earnestly, his voice tinged with emotional and physical exhaustion.

"Nothing would make me happier," Derek declared with tears of relief streaming from his eyes.


	27. Not Yet

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for sticking with me all this time. I really thought this would be the final chapter but it didn't work out the way I wanted it to. So, needless to say I need just one more to resolve Spencer and Derek's relationship after all the hardship they've gone through. I will do my best to get it out sooner, especially since the school year is winding down to a close.**

**Thanks for all your reviews, follows, favs, and encouragement. I really appreciate you guys!**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Alas, taking Spencer home wasn't as easy as it sounded.

The first order of business after the two emerged from the prince's bedchambers was to ensure that no harm would come them. In order to do that Derek had to make sure that Charles's troops were aware of his death and the fact that there were no successors left alive.

Coincidentally, the first group of soldiers that appeared in front of them happened to contain Raphael's second in command. Derek knew upon seeing the high-ranking knight that he would have to do speak quickly in order to get the man to listen to him. Thankfully, he somehow managed to weave the right words together and convinced the knight to go back to Tobias's chambers to see the carnage.

Unfortunately, while the commander had agreed to go back to the prince's rooms, he wasn't foolish enough to allow the kings to remain free. He commanded that the two king's surrender themselves to him and that they permit his knights to secure their hands behind their backs. Derek paled at the ultimatum, knowing full well that his husband was not in any shape to be restrained once again.

Spencer, though, made his partner proud by hardening his eyes and thrusting his hands behind his back. The only outward sign that the young king showed at the forceful restraint was a small wince when the coarse rope was wrapped around his wrists. Derek quickly followed his husband's lead and stood still as his own arms were bound.

With their prisoners secured, the party of knights confidently marched them back down the corridor to the blood-soaked room from whence they came.

The group slowly entered the receiving chambers and looked around at the immaculate room. The commander's eyes narrowed at the lack of butchery that he had been promised. "What sort of game are you playing? I thought you said they were in here. Dead."

"Not in here," Derek corrected. "In the prince's bedroom."

The lead knight stepped up to his prisoner and leaned in close to his face, "You better not be lying to me, boy."

"Open the door and see for yourself," Derek challenged him confidently.

The formidable man fixed him with a stern glare before he strode away, gesturing for his men to bring up the rear.

Derek followed along behind the commander and watched as he pushed open the door. He saw the man step into the tainted room and held his breath in anticipation of the leader's reaction.

"All of you," he called, "get in here."

"Do you want one of us to stay –," one of the soldiers started to ask.

"No."

The lower ranking knights were quick to circumvent the two kings and rush into the room.

Once they were alone, Derek gently nudged his world-weary husband. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, his eyes noticing how exhausted his beloved was looking.

"I should be asking you that," Spencer responded, purposefully glancing at Derek's oozing wound.

"It's alright for now," he acknowledged. The injured youth looked at the doorway and back at his lover. "I-uh…I'm going to head on in there. You don't have to though. You can stay out here. There's no need for you to see uh…to see it all again."

Spencer jerked his chin as if he was outraged at the suggestion. "You're not leaving my sight."

Understanding his husband's insistence on keeping him close, the king said, "Then let's make this quick."

The emotionally fragile young man nodded in agreement and shadowed his husband as he walked back into the blood-spattered room.

As the two of them entered they heard the commander confirming what they already knew. "King Charles is dead."

"So is the prince," said one of his fellow soldiers.

"And Sir Raphael."

The room was totally silent for a minute before the soldier in charge looked at his fellow compatriots and let out a huge breath of air, "Thank God."

Utter shock sizzled through Derek. He shook his head, "What?"

"Thank God. That man was a tyrant and his brother wasn't any better. The only one that I'm sad about losing is the kid. He wasn't all that bad…he just wouldn't have been any good at running a kingdom," the knight said simply.

"I never thought this day would come," chimed in Derek's guard, sheathing his sword.

"So what now?" Spencer's guard asked.

The lead knight shrugged his shoulders, "We tell the others. Sir Richard, run and tell the field commander the news. Have him order the men to stand down and officially free King Derek's imprisoned men."

"At once, sir," Sir Richard stated before turning around and leaving.

Derek, surprised yet satisfied with the turn of events, raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side, "You're just letting my men go free?"

The older man looked over a Derek and nodded, "Yes. As of right now I'm the highest ranking official and those are my orders. I'm sure some of the other men might not totally agree with me but I really don't care. Too many of us have been suffering for too long under Charles's tyrannical rule. Very few have benefited from his ways and I'm sure when we all get together and talk more men will come over to my way of thinking."

Derek gave a half-smile before turning his back to the man and wiggling his fingers, "Could you undo these ropes now?"

The knight was quick to respond, "Oh! At once, Sire!"

"Sire?" Derek queried as the ropes fell away from his wrists.

The knight's stoic expression relayed to the young king how serious he was about his next words. "Naturally. There isn't anyone else that is even remotely qualified to run this country now that Charles is dead. And I, for one, do not want to leave the throne empty for too long."

"And why is that?" Derek asked as he walked over to Spencer and freed his hands.

"Because I wouldn't put it past some of the more sanctimonious families of this realm to fight over who deserves to rule next. I'd rather you just claim this whole country as your own and stop the impending civil war before it starts. Besides, you defeated Charles fair and square. What was once his should now be yours."

"He's right, Derek," Spencer said softly. "You've earned it."

"Don't you think we've earned it?"

The young man didn't answer the question but winced instead. "I-I need to sit down."

Seeing Spencer in pain suddenly reminded Derek that he too wasn't in that great of shape. There were still slow rivers of red oozing from his left hip while the wound on his arm seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat.

The knight, seemingly noticing for the first time that both men were injured, ordered the other soldier in the room to run and get some help. "Here, let me help you to a seat," he offered Spencer, stepping forward and ducking his head under the boy's right arm. He led the two kings back out into Tobias's receiving room and settled his load onto one of the divans.

Derek plopped his battered body down next to his husband and said a grateful, "Thank you."

The man nodded, "Just doing my duty, Your Grace. You two just sit tight here while my man fetches the court physician. I'm going to go down to the yard to make sure my orders are being followed. I'll also check on your friends, the..uh…the ones that Charles had ordered be taken prisoner, and I'll make sure they are freed and sent up here to be with you. When that's all done, I'll summon all of my men to the barracks and inform them of the change in leadership."

"Again," Derek said, "thank you."

The knight bowed low and then stood up with his right fist clenched over his heart. "It's my pleasure to help you, Your Majesty."

Derek nodded silently then turned his attention to his pale trembling lover. "Spencer, my love, talk to me. Is it just your leg?"

The other king grimaced and bit his lip. "You shouldn't be so worried about me. You're hurt too."

"True, but I'm not the one that looks like he's about to pass out," Derek stated, scooting over and wrapping his left arm around Spencer's waist.

"I-I'm not about to pass out. I-I think it's just the events of the day finally catching up with me. I can't help thinking that this is all a dream that I'm about to wake up from. A-and when I do…it will be _his_ arm trapping me against _his_ body and not yours."

The muscular king sighed forlornly and squeezed his beloved. "Do you feel this? Can you feel my embrace?"

Spencer closed his eyes, relishing in the sensation stemming from his partner's fingertips. "Yeah."

Derek nuzzled his face into the crook of the boy's neck and breathed in his lover's heady scent. "That's my breath dancing across your skin. Those are my fingers splayed across your hip. And these are my lips kissing yours," he assured his best friend before he pecked Spencer's swollen mouth. "This – this is real. I'm here. We're finally together. And nothing, from this point forward and for the rest of our lives, will pull us asunder. I promise."

The boy's maple brown eyes opened wide, spilling the tears he was trying to hide. "You can't promise that."

With a growl, Derek pulled his lover's lithe body closer to him, heedless of his injury. "Oh but I can. Because I'm never letting you out of my sight ever again. Where you go, I go."

Spencer gave his husband a shaky smile. He then reached his hand up and traced his fingers over Derek's chiseled jawbone. "I-I'd like to believe you…," he trailed off, pulling his hand back and wiggling his body out of the warm comfort of Derek's arms.

"Then believe me!" the king bellowed, trying to pull his mate back toward him.

"But…"

"But, what?"

"But what happens when you finally realize that I'm not worth it?" he said meekly, looking down at his black and blue body. He started to fiddle with the golden belt that wrapped around his waist, causing the small golden coins to jingle as they hit one another.

Derek's brow furrowed faster than lightening. "How could you even think that you're –"

"Uh – excuse me," a timid voice chimed throughout the chamber.

The king gnashed his teeth together and turned in his seat. Standing nervously in the doorway to the room was a peculiar old man with a large leather bag grasped in his hands. "Who are you?" Derek demanded to know in a stern voice.

"I-I was told to come up here to tend to the-the new kings," the physician responded, clearly put off by Derek's scrutinizing gaze.

"Well then don't just stand there. My husband's been injured. Come and help him," he said gruffly, frustrated that his conversation with Spencer had been cut off at its most important part.

"Of course, Your Grace," the doctor said, startled at the man's hostile tone. He scuttled over to the divan and immediately crouched down in front of the two young men. His eyes roved over both their injuries but settled on Spencer's thigh. He pushed away the torn fabric of the red harem pants and inspected the wound. "It looks a little deep, which accounts for why it hasn't stopped bleeding yet. I'm going to clean it out and then, if you'll allow me, I'll try to sew it shut." He paused and looked up at his patient for confirmation that it was okay to continue. The young man silently nodded his head.

Upon receiving the go ahead, the physician stood up and looked around the room. "Alright. I'm going to go fetch some water to help cleanse your wound. I'll be right back." The old man scurried off through a set of doors on his mission, leaving the two lovers alone again.

"Spencer…," Derek started, intent upon continuing their conversation.

The leaner king kept his gaze focused on his lap, refusing to meet his husband's troubled eyes. "Not now. Not while we have an audience," the youth pleaded.

Sighing, Derek acquiesced, "Alright. But we will finish this later." He then reached out and snatched Spencer's right hand. He lifted the shaking limb up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on back of it. "I love you. I'll always love you," he murmured tenderly.

Still unable to meet his lover's eyes, Spencer clenched his other hand into a fist and whispered, "We'll see."

* * *

They never did finished their conversation.

Before the physician could even finish winding the last few inches of his white bandage around Derek's elbow wound the room was infiltrated by the kings' friends and new allies.

After that the two kings were swept up in a whirlwind of reunions, explanations and plans.

Together, the friends from Quantico worked with the surprisingly cooperative soldiers from Georgia on how to announce to the realm that the country as they knew it was now dissolved and taken over by their neighboring kingdom.

In the end, Derek put his newest ally, Sir Christian Reeves, in charge of spreading the news of the change in monarchy throughout the land. King Charles's former knight was more than happy to head-up the job.

It was also decided that Sir Kassmeyer would remain in the former Kingdom of Georgia along with fifty of Quantico's soldiers. They're job was to help Sir Reeves fully implement Derek's changes to the realm and ensure a smooth transition for the people.

Of course, the plan they laid out in the middle of Charles's former meeting chambers sounded good on paper but the team of allies knew that there would be some resistance to the change. Hence, a decree would be issued stating that anyone who was opposed to the change in authority had two choices – they could both pack up their possessions and move out of the Kingdom of Quantico, or they would be imprisoned.

While this seemed like a harsh ultimatum, the two kings knew it was necessary. No one had the time or energy to fight a civil war with any citizens that were intent on challenging the occupation of Georgia. And quite frankly, they all knew that the only people that would be opposed to the change in rulers were Charles's steadfast friends and they needed to be neutralized as soon as possible anyways.

Amazingly, the group had worked so diligently that Sir Reeves was able to being executing the first part of their plan. For before the sun had even begun to set, the knight was mounted on his horse and had a slew of men spreading out throughout the city and into the neighboring villages announcing to the people the news of Charles's death and the annexation of Georgia by the forces of Quantico.

After Quantico's newest knight had left the chambers the group of world-weary friends took a moment to savor the fact that they were finally all together and out of danger.

"I-I seriously can't believe that it's finally over and that we're all sitting here safe and sound," Penelope said in wonderment. She allowed her eyes to rove over all of her friends, drinking in their appearance and savoring the details.

Sadly, the small smile that had tugged at her lips disappeared when her gaze fell on Spencer.

She had known earlier that he had not been treated very well throughout his time here under the iron fist of Charles, but now seeing him, shrinking as deep into the chair he occupied as the cushions would allow, he looked like an entirely different man.

He was still scantily clad in the outfit that he had been forced to don earlier this morning. His mottled skin was on display for all to see, along with the stark white bandage that was wrapped around his right thigh.

But it wasn't the garish outfit that caused a stab of sorrow to jab Penelope in the gut. Rather it was the hollow look in her friend's eyes. The spark of life and curiosity that once danced throughout his amber orbs had been extinguished.

"Sweetie," she said, not bothering with formalities since the group was all alone. "Are you feeling okay?"

Spencer started at her question. He drew himself up a little in the chair but kept his eyes focused on his lap. "I-I'm fine."

She went to respond to his blatant lie but was cut off by Sir Hotcher. "No one expects you to be alright, Your Grace. You've been through more than I can imagine in the past year and it all came to a head today. Honestly, I would be shocked if you were actually acting fine…it would mean that you're not allowing yourself some leeway to deal with everything that has occurred."

"But I am. I'm fine. I'm just processing is all," Spencer protested weakly, curling his good leg up onto the chair in front of him – almost as if it were a shield that could protect him against any more of their prying questions.

Derek, recognizing that the attentions of their friends was causing Spencer to pull back deeper into himself, decided to change the subject. "What do you all say that we get out of here? Let's leave this godforsaken place and go back to our camp with our troops?"

Catching on that the subject of Spencer's emotional wellbeing was taboo, the rest of the group hurried to agree.

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Your Majesty," Hotch said, standing up and adjusting the sword at his side.

"Ohhh…I can't wait to get back to our camp! Just the thought of being surrounded by people we trust has me ready to run," Penelope added enthusiastically.

"Spencer?" Derek ventured.

"Hmm?"

"Are you ready to get out of here?" he asked, assuming it was a rhetorical question.

The youth lowered his leg back down to the ground and pushed himself up straight in the chair. He then bit his bottom lip and fingered the elaborate collar that was still strewn across his shoulders. "Actually, no. I need to go back to Charles's chambers."

Surprised, Derek was quick to ask, "What? Why? What could you possibly want in there?"

"Uh…a decent set of clothes for one," Spencer said sheepishly, his ears tinting red in embarrassment as he gestured to his exposed chest.

"Oh!" Derek exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I didn't think of that sooner. Here, we'll just have one of the guards bring you something comfortable to wear for our ride back to camp. Besides, neither one of us should be walking more than we have to; it'll just upset our wounds more."

Spencer's face pinched at his husband's suggestion. "No…really, no…I…uh…I need to get…"

"What? You need to get what?"

"I need to get something personal that Charles took away from me a few days ago. He-uh-he locked it up in one of his chests and I want to get it back before we leave," Spencer answered evasively. "Please?"

Derek could see the desperation in Spencer's eyes and conceded with a simple ultimatum, "Alright, but we're coming with you."

Spencer slowly pushed up out of his seat. "Y-you really don't have to. I-I'll be alright on my own." He stood up stiffly and couldn't hide the grimace the new pressure on his leg elicited.

"Nonsense," Derek admonished, getting up from his seat and hobbling over to his husband. "We'll do it together."

The way the young man sucked his lips into his mouth and averted his gaze made his lover think he was going to argue but Spencer nodded his consent instead.

"Aaron, Sam, would you two mind lending us a hand…or rather your shoulders?" Derek asked the two knights casually.

Both men stepped forth immediately. "Of course, Sire," Aaron said formally, unable to address his king informally, regardless of their friendship.

Derek chuckled as he wrapped his arm around Sir Kassmeyer's shoulders and started shuffling out of the room. "Penelope, why don't you meet us down in the courtyard? Have the men bring around the horses and a carriage. We'll be leaving within the hour."

The lady smiled mischievously, "You mean I don't get to come and watch you delicious men play dress-up in with Charles's wardrobe?"

"Ha! Behave, my lady. You have a nice young man back at home waiting to satisfy your hungry eyes," Derek bantered. "Now off with you."

"Right away, my handsome king," she trilled, maneuvering around the four men and out the door.

Sir Kassmeyer laughed at her cheerful exit, "She sure does brighten any room she's in."

"Lady Penelope has always had that ability," Sir Hotchner commented as he helped King Spencer limp down the passageway.

"She is one in a million," Derek complimented. "Everyone needs a Penelope in their life."

The other two men murmured their agreement before the conversation drifted to a close; no one commenting on the fact that Spencer was staying solemnly silent.

The group drew to a halt outside of the ominous doors. Derek looked over at his beloved and saw how his face was screwed up with emotion at the sight.

Deciding that it was best to get this over with as quickly as possible, Derek reached out and grabbed the handled to the door. He pushed it open and revealed the deceased king's receiving room. They all shuffled inside and looked around.

Suddenly, Spencer extracted himself from Sir Hotchner's grip and limped over to the bedchamber's door. The group went to follow but his soft voice stopped them. "I'd…ah…I'd like to do this alone."

Derek's eyes narrowed with concern. "Do you know exactly where it is?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Perfect. Since it's in there I'll go in with you and rummage through his wardrobe while you get…whatever it is we came here for," Derek declared lightly but the look in his eyes clearly said he wasn't going to compromise on this.

Spencer sighed and pushed the door open. He shuffled inside and made his way over to Charles's vanity table. Derek followed slowly behind him and gently closed the door. "Which door leads to his closet?"

"Second one on the right," Spencer answered automatically. Standing still in front of the large mirror, watching as Derek's reflection found the correct door. He didn't start moving until he saw his husband's form disappear into the dressing room.

As soon as he was alone, Spencer shucked the collar that was strewn across his shoulders. He then pulled out the cushioned stool and sat his exhausted body down upon it. He turned his body to the side and pulled open the bottom right drawer and pulled out a heavy metal lockbox.

Spencer set his burden down on the top of the vanity and stared at it. He traced his hand over the cool steel and pressed his finger against the keyhole.

"So what's in there?" Derek's voice queried, shattering the silence.

The younger man jumped at the question, snatching his hand away from the box. He twisted his body around toward his husband, his hand over his heart as if to help settle it back down after the sudden scare. "I see you found some clothes," he commented as his eyes roved over the bundle draped over Derek's arm.

His husband shrugged, "He has more clothes than Lady Penelope and Lady Jennifer put together, but most of them wouldn't fit you. I was able to find some riding breeches that lace up front, which I think we can adjust to your size. And then I just grabbed a tunic that we can belt at your waist."

"Good," Spencer stated, "I'm glad you didn't grab anything too showy."

"I know you too well," the muscular king commented with a wry smile. "So, are you going to tell me what's in the box?"

"It's…um…you know what it is," Spencer implied as his hand wandered across his chest and rested in the center of his bare breastbone.

Derek's russet eyes followed his beloved's limber fingers as watched as they clutched around an invisible object. "Ahh…he didn't throw it away?"

"No, actually he let me wear it pretty much my whole time here."

"Seriously?" Derek asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I-uh told him that it was the key to my collar and that it was meant to taunt me because I would never be able to unlock it," he explained. "It wasn't until last night that he took it away. He never said why I couldn't have it any more. I just figured that it didn't go with the outfit he wanted me to wear today."

"Wow, smart thinking…you know, telling him it was a psychological torture devise. That man thrived on other people's suffering," Derek said.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Tell me about it," he whispered, dropping his eyes down to his bruised body.

"Oh, sweetheart," Derek sighed, dropping the clothes onto the former king's bed before moving to sit with his husband. He then gingerly wrapped his arms around his best friend and pulled him close. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner. I tried – I swear, I tried; but I had to make sure the plan was sound and everything back home was protected before I came."

A new onslaught of tears slipped down Spencer's battered cheeks. "I know…I know that you got here as soon as you could….it's just…it's just that…"

"It's just, what?"

The timid king just shook his head. "Nothing," he said with defeat thick in his voice.

Derek released his grip on Spencer's waist and gently nudged his lover to turn toward him. He then cupped the boy's black and blue cheeks gently in his hands and used the pads of this thumbs to wipe away his tears. "Tell me."

The youth opened his mouth as if he was about to pour out his heart and soul, but then his eyes seemed to cool – shuttering away his thoughts deep in their hazel depths. He broke out of his husband's embrace, stood up and started rifling through the vanity's other drawers. "I need to find something that I can use to pick the lock" he said devoid of all emotion.

Derek shook his head at his husband's deeply rooted obstinacy. "You're going to have to talk to me about this sometime."

Spencer ignored his lover and continued his search.

"Honey, we are not going to pretend like nothing happened. I'm not going to let you bury this deep inside your vast mind. I mean, I can already see that you're hurting. If we don't start talking about it, it's going to fester."

"Ah-ha!" Spencer cried out, pulling his hand out of a drawer with a straight pin grasped between his thumb and index finger.

"Are you even listening to me?" Derek asked fervently as Spencer set to work on the lockbox.

"Hmm?"

"Spencer."

Nothing.

"Spencer!"

Still nothing.

"SPENCER!"

The boy's nimble fingers dropped the pick before he turned to face his husband. "What?" he asked innocently.

Derek rolled his eyes. "When are we going to talk about this?"

The brunette sucked in his lower lip and tucked his gangly arms into his chest. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No…," he said, his frustration clear in his tone. "Don't you get it? It's just too soon."

"I know – "

"No, Derek. You don't know." Spencer dropped his arms down to his side and turned his back on his husband. "You don't know what I've been through. I just…I can't talk about this…at least, not yet."

"Not yet?"

"Yeah, not yet."

The room was silent for a moment and then behind him Spencer could hear the sound of Derek shaking the metal box. The other king had decided to stop pushing his husband for the time being. "Alright then. Let's get this open, so we can go home."

Spencer turned back around and gave his beloved a small smile. "Thanks."

* * *

**They will be back home in the next chapter and I promise that I will wrap it up then!**

**Take care!**


	28. I Love You Three

**Hi Friends!**

**Wow, I'm sorry that this story took me a year an a half to complete. I really hope you enjoyed the ride. Thank you for all your kind words, favorites and follows. I really appreciated your support!**

**Well, I hope your ready for some cheese with your angst...I couldn't help myself...**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

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The golden red rays of the sun were creeping through the window when Derek cracked his eyes open. The royal bedroom was glowing with the colorful hues of light accompanied by the dulcet sound of a cardinal chirping outside of his window. It was a beautiful way to start the day…

Except…

He was starting it alone.

The king, whom had woken up on his back, knew without even turning his head that the spot next to him would be vacant.

For his husband had completely pulled away from everyone – including him.

Spencer's regression started on the ride home from Georgia. The young man had spent the whole journey back in the royal carriage and only came out to relieve himself or sleep in his tent. He refused to eat his meals with the rest of the entourage and rarely engaged anyone that wasn't Derek in conversation; not that his chats with Derek were of anything of substance. Spencer made a point of avoiding any discussion that focused on his stay with Charles and pretty much tried to act like it never happened.

At night the co-king would reluctantly vacate the coach and go straight to the royal tent. Initially this pleased Derek, making him think that at least his beloved was making an effort to reconnect with him. But that assumption was soon dissolved by the fact that Spencer refused to share his husband's bed. Each night Derek confronted his lover, asking him why he needed his own cot, imploring him to come and share his space – to allow him to wrap him up in his embrace, but Spencer would silently shake his head and bury his body beneath his own covers.

Of course, Derek knew that Spencer's refusal to talk through his experience and his reluctance to come into contact with his husband was caused by the boy's inability to cope with what had happened to him. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn't lessen the sting he felt whenever Spencer rejected his offers to help and soon the frustrated and hurt king decided to stop badgering his husband and let him be until he was ready to have a heart-to-heart.

Unfortunately, his plan to give Spencer space didn't work. The younger king seemed to shrink in on himself as each day passed, saying fewer and fewer words until he went completely silent.

It was heartbreaking for Derek to watch as his lover became a shell of the man he once was. Derek would sit in the carriage with him every day talking to him about anything and everything in the hopes that he would spark some sort of life into those amber eyes he loved so much, but nothing worked. At that point he could only hope that Spencer would brighten up once they reached their castle. Perhaps his beloved just needed to be surrounded by his friends and family in a safe location to finally feel comfortable enough to face the demons that were tormenting his soul.

Alas, Derek's hopes were dashed. For even the sight of their majestic castle – their home – wasn't a good enough sight to wipe away some of deeply seated sorrow that now painted Spencer's face day in and day out.

In fact, Spencer retreated even more into solitude the second his feet touched down on the castle's grounds. For the only emotion that the depressed young man showed when he got out of the carriage was sadness. The king had expected a hint of a smile or maybe a look of relief but neither were forthcoming.

"It feels good to be home. Doesn't it?" Derek had asked Spencer, trying to elicit some kind of positive reaction.

But Spencer's empty eyes just roved over the dull gray bricks before he shrugged his shoulders and shuffled inside.

After that, Spencer just, in a sense, disappeared.

He refused to enter the royal chambers and had commandeered a vacant room on the opposite side of the castle. The already too thin king never came down to meals. He would either eat in his room alone or wander down to the kitchen and fetch a snack if he got hungry. Other than that he never left his chambers and declined any visitors, including Derek.

The only person that he would communicate with was Sir Hotchner, but even that was resentfully. For the knight, knowing how worried his friend and king was about his husband's health, decided to forgo the distraught boy's wishes and enter his rooms. Apparently an argument ensued upon his arrival but Hotchner's stoic logic won out in the end. The two came to an amicable agreement that the knight could check up on him every night after dinner and report his condition back to Derek.

Begrudgingly, Derek listened each night to Sir Hotchner's report of his husband's health, gritting his teeth as he wished his stubborn lover would stop hiding away from the world – from him.

Two weeks.

It had now been two weeks that he had been waking up alone when he didn't have to. His husband had never been so close yet so far away all at once. When was the young man going to stop punishing himself – and in a sense Derek – for crimes that he didn't commit?

With a large sigh, Derek turned over onto his side and stared at Spencer's empty space. The silk sheets that covered his husband's portion of the bed were nearly immaculate; the only wrinkles marring their shape were due to Derek's tossing and turning. Unable to take the pristine sight, Derek reached his hand out and mussed up the fabric, pushing and pulling it until no one would be able to tell that he had been sleeping alone. He then flopped his hand on the fluffy pillow that was meant to support Spencer's short burnished bronze hair, pulling it over to his chest and clenching it against his breastbone.

He was squeezing the feathery cushion tightly, wishing it was his husband, when he felt the cool touch of metal slide over his forearm and down to the mattress.

Crinkling his brow in confusion, Derek pushed his upper body up off the mattress and moved Spencer's pillow off to the side. At first he didn't see anything but after shuffling around the covers a bit he uncovered something that stole his breath away.

It was the key to his collar.

The key that he had given Spencer on their wedding night.

The key he had given with the specific instructions to keep it until the time that they could both remove their collars.

He picked up the token of his love and stared at it. "Why would he…"

A strangled gasp clawed its way out of his throat when he realized the implication behind the key in his hand.

"No!"

Derek flew out of bed as fast as lightning, strewing the covers over the floor and racing toward the door. He threw it open and called out, "Hotch!"

The knight, who was never far from his liege lord, heard his rarely used nickname and came running from the outer hallway. "My lord?" he inquired, searching the room with his eyes looking for any sign of danger.

"Spencer! Where is he?" Derek demanded.

Confused, Sir Hotchner's brow wrinkled, "Pardon?"

"Spencer! He was here. In my room. Where did he go?"

"My lord, no one has been in or out of the room since I got here earlier," he explained. "How do you know that he was here?"

"Because he left me this!" Derek exclaimed, thrusting forth the necklace that was clutched in his fist.

"What is –"

"Damn it!" Derek swore before turning his back on his friend and fleeing back into his room. He ran over to his wardrobe and pulled out a light shirt and a pair of trousers. He quickly donned the clothes and threw his feet into the first pair of shoes that he could find. He then raced back to the door while fastening his belt around his waist.

"We have to go. Now," was all the king cried out before rushing through his chamber doors and out into the hallway.

The knight kept pace with his sovereign as they dashed through the empty passages. Aaron didn't need to ask where they were going; he could tell their destination just by the path that Derek's feet were cutting across the cool morning stones.

The pair drew to a halt outside of Spencer's new chambers. Derek reached his hand out and grasped the doorknob. It was locked.

He let go of the cold handle and curled his fingers up into a fist before pounding on the wood that separated him from his husband. "Spencer! Open this door right now!"

He waited for a brief moment, his chest heaving in anticipation and panic, before he thundered on the door once again. "By God, if you don't answer this door in the next five seconds I'm coming in – your wishes be damned!"

Sir Hotchner watched as his king's lips moved as they counted down. A cold chill coiled in his stomach when not a sound was heard coming from the other side of the barrier. "My lord, you don't think –"

Derek didn't wait for him to finish his question. Instead he took off running down the hall and skidded to a halt before a gigantic tapestry that hung from floor to ceiling. He flung the fabric back and allowed his hand to glide across the stone until he found the hidden catch. His shaking fingers pulled the clasp back a fraction of an inch, causing the seemingly solid stone wall to recede backwards into a dark passageway.

Heedless of the absence of light, the king sprinted into the shadows. "Spencer!" he called, the desperation in his voice palpable. "Don't you dare!"

Up ahead a sliver of light was peeking through the cracks around the entryway into Spencer's quarters. Derek rushed forth and flung all of his body weight against the stone. The hidden doorway gave away due to the solid hit, hurling open to reveal an empty room.

"Spencer?!" he shouted numerous times as he ran around the vacant chamber, searching everywhere.

"Sire!" Sir Hotchner bellowed, trying to get the distressed king's attention.

"Your Grace," he tried again, still not getting a response from the younger man.

"Derek!" he yelled, finally getting the boy's attention by using his God-given name.

Derek halted his frantic search and eyeballed his friend, "What?"

"Forgive me, my friend, but your husband is not here," he said somberly.

A look of defeat momentarily crossed Derek's features before he tucked his emotions away. "Gather everyone you can and have them start searching the grounds. Tell them to leave no stone unturned. We have to find him before he...before he makes the worst decision of his life."

The knight nodded, "At once, Sire."

"Thanks," Derek uttered, pushing past his loyal soldier.

"Where will you be? How will I let you know if we find him?"

"You told me two days ago that my mother's former quarters had been disturbed, right?"

"Yes. Someone has been using the fireplace and had taken some of the books from off of her shelves. We think whomever it is was also sleeping in her bed too," Hotch reiterated.

Derek paused and looked back at his friend before he fled out the door. "And you remember what I told you about Spencer and my mother?"

Aaron, one of the few people in all of Quantico whom was privy to Spencer's real heritage, finally connected the dots that Derek had been pointing out. "Do you think he's down in the catacombs?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Derek vowed as he turned back around and slipped out the door.

* * *

Derek's decision to venture alone down to the mausoleum below the Great Hall was solely based on the fact that he didn't want anyone witnessing what was sure to be a harrowing reunion. He was pretty sure that the unresolved tension between the two of them had been building to this moment ever since the day Derek had rescued his husband from Charles's clutches. This confrontation had been a long time in coming; Derek just hoped that he wasn't too late.

The stone walls passed by him in shadows as the only light he had to guide his way was an old-fashioned torch. Its flame flickered dangerously every time a draft of cold air wafted up from the passages below him as if the current was intent upon making its way out of the catacombs as quickly as possible.

The king had been treading softly through the damp corridors for the last ten minutes, slowly creeping through the winding paths that lead to the newest inhabitants of the tombs. Besides his shallow breathing, the only sound that he could hear as he crept through the halls was that of water dripping down into the stagnant puddles that gathered in the corners.

The cold moist air was so thick it felt like it was sticking to his bones as he got closer he got to his mother's resting place. A shiver ran down his spine as a particularly frigid breeze ghosted over his bare arm, causing him to halt in the mid-walk in order to pull down the sleeves of his tunic. He was just about to start his trek again when he heard a small voice off in the distance.

"…so tarnished…so filthy…"

Derek pulled in a deep breath and skulked to the corner of the hall, purposefully trying to avoid detection by his husband.

A sniffle sounded through the narrow passage before Spencer's feeble voice sounded off again, "I-I know he still loves me, mom…but I can't let him ruin his life – throw away his kingdom just because of me. And it would happen too because the citizens of Quantico don't deserve – no, want – they don't want someone as tainted as me to sit on a throne. I-I can see it in their eyes, momma. They know what Charles did to me. They know…they know what I let him do. I s-swear I didn't want to…but he made me. H-he made me do those things. I just kept telling myself to close my eyes and endure; let him do what he wanted until I could come back home. But…now that I am home, I realize I should have let him kill me. I should have just died down in Georgia."

Unable to listen to his beloved disparage himself any more, the king stepped out from his hiding spot. "If you would have died, than I would have died with you," he stated, his voice thick with emotion.

Startled, Spencer stood up from his position on the ground across from Diana's tomb. "Derek…I didn't think –" his voice trailed off into a mumble.

The king's brow creased. "You didn't think what?" he asked, stepping forward and reaching out for his lover's limp hand.

The younger king drew backward, away from his best friend's touch. His eyes cooled as he secured his emotions into the lockbox that was his mind. "I didn't think you'd get down here so fast."

Taken aback, Derek stuttered, "S-so…what? You wanted me to find you d-dead?"

Emotionlessly, Spencer answered, "Yes." Upon that daunting word, his hand wandered down to his side and slid into his pocket, pulling out a sharp blade that was nestled inside of it.

"Why?" Derek implored, longing to say more but tucking his words behind his teeth in order to give Spencer a chance to reveal his hidden thoughts.

"To set you free."

"Free?" Derek uttered incredulously. "Free?"

"Yes."

"You think that killing yourself would set me free?"

"Yes. Free of me."

"And why do I need to be freed from you?" Derek pushed, moving his body into Spencer's personal space.

The boy backed up into the damp wall behind him, sucking in his stomach in an effort to put more space in between him and his lover. Derek's proximity and confidence reminded Spencer too much of his former captor's, causing him to avert his eyes and stare down at the floor. "Y-you know w-why," he stammered, his emotions getting the better of him.

"No, I don't. Tell me," he ordered, wincing inside as he witnessed the reaction his beloved was having to his dominant tone.

"I-I'm so dirty," he suddenly sobbed out. "I-I let h-him do all those things to me. I knew that I was breaking our wedding vows every time he touched me but I still let him. I broke my word to you over and over because I selfishly wanted to come home. And now…and now I can't in good conscience allow you to touch me because of what he did – no, what we did together. I-I don't deserve you. And…and you don't deserve to have someone as foul as me sullying your good name."

Spencer's anguished eyes closed tightly, squeezing out the water that had gathered in their corners. Small trails of tears streaked silently down his cheeks; a visual representation of the turmoil that was tearing his soul apart.

Choosing his next words wisely, Derek raised his free hand up to cup his lover's wet cheek. "Listen to me carefully, Spencer," Derek instructed, ignoring how his husband flinched when their skin connected. "For the first time in your life, you have gotten everything all wrong. You are not dirty, filthy, tainted or whatever other word you've come up with to describe yourself. You are _still_ my loyal loving husband who did what he had to do to survive. No one faults you – I don't fault you for doing…no, suffering through what he did to you. You never had any choice."

The younger man moaned, "But I did. I could've tried harder to get away. I could've done everything in my power to refuse him. I could've – "

"No you couldn't have. He would have killed you!" Derek interrupted with a snarl.

"Exactly," Spencer cried out, his eyes flashing miserably. "I wouldn't be here and you wouldn't have this embarrassing stone hanging around your neck."

"You're not embarrassing and you're not a burden," Derek assured, his tone softer than before. "You're confused and scared. What happened to you down there was horrible. I can't even begin to imagine what you endured and honestly it pains me to even think about it. But…but if we are going to have any hope at making it through this together than _we _are going to have to face it. You are going to have to start to opening up to me and I promise that I will be right here to listen." Throughout his speech he placed his torch in the holder above Spencer's head and then allowed his newly freed hand meandered down and grasped the fist that Spencer had clenched around the hilt of the knife. He used his fingers to break the other man's hold on the weapon and smoothly whisked it away into the pocket of his trousers.

The other king sniffled and lifted his now empty hand up to wipe his face, pulling his head out of Derek's gentle grasp. "I-I just don't understand," he mumbled.

"You don't understand what?"

Spencer closed his eyes again and licked his lips. "I…I don't understand how you can stand to touch me."

"I already told you that you're –"

"No…no, I know you said that," the younger man said, shaking his head. He cracked his eyes open and allowed his gaze to wander over to his mother's grave. "I know that you said that I'm not dirty. And though I don't believe you…"

Derek went to interrupt but Spencer pushed forth, "It's more than that…I…I'm the reason that mom is dead. I got her killed because of my cowardice. If I had been braver than she would still be here not buried…buried in there."

The king turned his head and looked at the white granite tomb that encased his mother's bones. "Oh sweetie. I don't blame you for that."

"You should," Spencer shouted; his anger with himself came pouring out with his words. "You should blame me. I got her killed. I allowed her to take on Charles by herself. She died because she was protecting me. If I would have stepped forward and acted like the king that I supposedly am, then she would still be here." His self-incriminating words seemed to take the fight out of his body. His legs seemed to collapse beneath him, sending his lanky body down to the floor.

Derek felt his heart breaking for his husband. How big of a load was Spencer supposed to carry on his shoulders?

"Spencer," he said gently, crouching down in front of him. "Did you read the epitaph?"

Behind him, carved deeply into the solid granite rock that encased Diana's bones was the following inscription:

_Here lies Queen Diana Reid._

_A braver woman was never known._

_She gave her life so that others might live._

_The world will forever mourn her loss but rejoice in her legacy._

"Yeah," he said with a sniffle. "It only made me feel worse."

"It shouldn't have. I wrote it with you in mind."

"Why? Did you want me to suffer more?"

"No, I wanted you to remember forever how much she loved you. She gave you the greatest gift of all…life."

"It should have been me," he sighed, missing Derek's point completely.

Fed up with his husband's unending guilt, the king fell to his knees and grabbed Spencer's face between his two hands. He felt the other man try to pull out of his grasp and tightened his grip.

"Let me go," Spencer ordered through clenched teeth as he brought his hands up and tried to use them to pry his head free of Derek's hands.

"No," he stated. His heart was beating wildly, for he knew that his beloved wasn't going to react well to such harsh treatment. "Now calm down…and look at me." Spencer squirmed a little bit more in response. "Calm down. It's me, your husband. I'm not going to hurt you. You are safe with me."

Spencer dropped his hands away from his husband's in defeat but still refused to meet him in the eye.

"Now, please look at me," Derek begged. "I want to tell you something but I need you to look in my eyes while I do it."

"Wh-y?" Spencer asked, his voice cracking on the simple yet complex word.

"Because I know it's the only way to prove to you that what I'm saying is true."

Reluctantly, the sullen king lifted his honey-brown eyes up to meet his lover's deep umber orbs.

"There we go," Derek said warmly. "Now, are you going to listen?"

Spencer nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Good," he uttered. "Because trying to get you to really hear me so far has been like trying to catch wind in a net," he teased before clearing his throat. "Now, I know that right now you are feeling worthless. You've pushed yourself down into a depression so deep there doesn't seem to be a single speck of light to help you find your way out. And I don't blame you…you have so much guilt weighing on your mind that you can barely stand. But please…please, let me be the light that brightens up your darkness. I-I can't just stand here and watch you suffocate in all of this sorrow. I want to help you become that carefree confident man that I left behind when I foolishly went to war. I want to see you smile again. I want to hear you laugh. And above all…I want to give you a reason to live again," Derek paused and took a deep breath. "Look Spencer, I love you more than you'll ever know and if you truly love me back you won't give up on yourself. You'll let me help you find yourself again. And…and you'll let me love you again." Derek allowed the tears that had developed in his eyes to fall freely as he leaned forward and planted a small kiss on Spencer's forehead.

The monarch drew his hands away from Spencer's face and waited for his beloved's answer.

The bronze-haired king let out a congested cough. "I'm not sure if I can."

"Why?"

"Because…it just feels like that person you're looking for…the one you want to bring back…it feels like he died down in Georgia," he admitted. "Derek, I'm not the same person anymore. The parts of me you're looking for…they no longer exist. All that's left of the Spencer you remember is his husk."

Derek shook his head emphatically, "No! That's not true."

"It is…"

"No. I'll concede that you probably feel like he's gone but I'm willing to bet that you've just locked him away in that big ol' brain of yours. You've just got to feel safe enough to let him out once again," he explained while his hand reached into his other pocket and pulled out the object that Spencer had left upon his pillow this morning. "See, you already had the key."

Spencer looked down at the key resting in Derek's palm.

"I want you to have this back. I don't need it but you do," Derek said tenderly. He stretched out the chain that the key was strung through and settled it over Spencer's head. "Now, anytime you feel scared or ashamed, I want you to look at that key and remember it's a symbol of my unending love for you. I want you to remember that no matter what I love you and nothing in the world is ever going to change that."

A ghost of a smile played on Spencer's lips as he reached his hand up and grabbed the symbolic piece. "Do you really think I will be able – we will be able to get back to normal?"

"Normal? I don't know. What is normal anyways? But do I believe that we can heal our relationship – that we can both move on from the horrible tragedy that befell you – us?" Derek let the question hang in the air for a few seconds, allowing his husband to ponder his words. "Yes. Of course I believe we can…but…but you've got to promise me you'll start trying and stop isolating yourself. If you need to be alone once in a while that's fine, but you can't get better by yourself. Separating yourself from the rest of us will only drive you down further into a depression. You've got to come out and slowly immerse yourself in your old life again."

Spencer's eyes flashed with worry at his suggestion. "I-I don't….what if…what if no one wants to see me? What if they aren't like you? What if they all hate me for getting mom and Lord Rossi killed?"

The king gave his lover a sad smile. "None of our friends blame you. Not a one. They are just worried about you. Heck, I think Lady JJ and Lord William are more worried about you than anyone else. Did you know that she is pregnant? She told me a few days after we got back. She's been longing to talk to you about it. I think they are planning on asking us to be the little lad or lass's godparents."

"They don't want to choose me for that honor," Spencer said, his eyes widening in horror. "I know absolutely nothing about raising a child."

"Sweetie, it doesn't matter. The minute you hold the little bundle you'll know what to do. I've heard that we are all ingrained with some sort of natural instinct when it comes to kids. I know you'll be wonderful with the baby. Just think…you can teach it all of that useless information you've got stored up in your brain."

"Hey," Spencer reacted indignantly. "My knowledge is not useless."

"Sure it isn't," Derek teased before changing the subject. "You could also teach the child all those magic tricks you refuse to share with us. I can picture it now, the two of you in front of the Great Hall entertaining everyone with your sleight of hand techniques."

"That would be fun," he admitted, smiling warmly as he pictured the scene Derek described.

Derek eyes danced with mirth upon seeing the genuine smile that painted Spencer's delicate features. He reached out his hands and grabbed both of his beloved's, squeezing them in a show of comfort and support. "So what do you say…can we get out of here and start the next chapter of our lives?"

Spencer's amber orbs scanned Derek's face before he nodded his consent, "I-I know it's not going to be easy…but for you…for us, I'm willing to try."

"That's all I can ask," Derek leaned in and nuzzled his nose against Spencer's.

A little whimper escaped Spencer's lips when his husband pulled back from his loving gesture.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you think –," he paused and licked his lips. "It's alright if you want to kiss me."

Surprise lit Derek's face. "Are you sure? I don't want to do anything you're not ready for."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I mean…I'm not ready for anything more intense but…I think I can handle this," he confessed, biting his lower lip nervously.

Derek grinned and leaned forward, capturing his lover's lips with his own. The two men seemed to mesh into one during their long awaited lip-lock. They were both pouring all of the emotions that they had locked up tight into the romantic gesture, telling each other without words how much they missed the other's presence.

They broke apart a few seconds later, panting from the emotional exertion that they had both put forth.

Derek leaned his forehead against Spencer's and asked, "Are you ready to go?"

The younger man gulp, "I-I think so."

Sensing his best friend's hesitance, Derek was quick to reassure him, "It'll be okay. I'm going to be right by your side from here on out."

"Thank you, Derek – for everything."

Derek let out a whoosh of air, "And thank you for not giving up. God, I love you, Spencer."

"I love you too, Derek."

A bright beam of affection spread across Derek's lips as he uttered his favorite line, "I love you three."

* * *

**And thus the story ends, friends. At least for now it's over. I'm not going to promise anything but I could totally see myself giving you a random update one day that happens a few months later...showing how much our boys have healed and adding in a little bit of slashy goodness.  
**

**I hope you enjoyed the journey. **

**Until next time!**

**Take care, friends.**


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